


Nine Tails of Retribution

by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kitsune, karma bites you on the arse, the price of a wish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 72,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_the_Rose/pseuds/Dragon_and_the_Rose
Summary: [HG/SS] Sirius Black spent years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, but when he commits another crime against Hermione, no one was there to see it. Unfortunately, many people would rather trust Sirius than Severus, and Sirius is taking full advantage of this. [AU]
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 62
Kudos: 250





	1. Wolf in Dog's Clothing

**Summary** : [HG/SS] Sirius Black spent years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, but when he commits another crime against Hermione, no one was there to see it. Unfortunately, many people would rather trust Sirius than Severus, and Sirius is taking full advantage of this. [AU]

 **A/N:** Damn you, plot bunnies! Stop plaguing me. You are like mosquito bites I have to itch!

 **Trigger Warning:** Attempted rape in first chapter.

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose and Dutchgirl01

* * *

**Nine Tails of Retribution**

**Chapter One**

A Wolf in Dog's Clothing

" _We only confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no big ones."_

― _François de La Rochefoucauld_

* * *

Grimmauld Place felt dark, dank, cold, and felt terribly _un_ lived in. The Order wasn't supposed to meet up here for another couple of days yet, but Harry had assured her that he would be showing up just as soon as Ron and his brothers could break him out of his prison-esque room at the Dursley's. For people who had never once displayed much of an interest in keeping Harry around, they sure put up quite a fight when he really wanted to leave.

No one seemed to be here, and I shivered a little, carefully stepping out of the musty floo with my beaded bag in hand— my pride and joy— that Minerva had taught me how to sew, how to weave the endless expansion spells into each stitch, and literally stuff my entire library into it. There were, to be fair, more just than my extensive collection of books inside it, but I had enjoyed seeing how much I could stuff into it while the purse still looked like nothing was inside at all.

Ever since my parents had died in such a horrific freak accident—the train they had been riding crashed in a tunnel of all things—Minerva had become like my mother and my father rolled into one. And for anyone who believed she didn't have the bollocks to be effective at both roles, well, they didn't know my mam very well. Officially, I still kept the Granger name, at least until I graduated, but _not_ because I wasn't very proud to be a McGonagall. The stern Scottish witch had done nothing but do right by me. She was fair, solid, and loving foundation. She just knew that I wanted to graduate a Granger and pay that final tribute to my parents' memory.

On parchment, buried deep in the innermost bowels of the Ministry, hidden and witnessed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, Amelia Bones, and Alastor Moody, were my formal wizarding adoption papers. Emblazoned on my back was the ornate tattoo of a Scottish thistle and the McGonagall crest that had appeared the very moment the ink had set on the parchment, sealed in the magic that had locked me to Minerva in every way that mattered.

I had given my parent's old house to an elite branch of Aurors to be used as a safe house. Gods help anyone who came there looking to give me any trouble. The last time I'd been there, Alastor had met me at the door, and he had that way about him that made you think you were in trouble, he had proof, and you were going to be very, very sorry for whatever it was you had done. Even if you had no idea what you could possibly have done— he was a remarkably prickly sort. My secret, however, was that when no one was looking, I would hug him tight and bury my nose in his heavy leather coat and bask in the scent of his distinctive woodsy aftershave. The game was getting away with it for as long as I could before someone might chance to notice, and he would send me scrambling off in a hurry with a series of sharp words and a madly whirling eye. It was our little secret.

In the summer, when I was supposedly at home with my parents, I spent it in Minerva's summer house on the Scottish coast, and when I wasn't there or getting in mam's hair, she let me shadow my "friends" at the Aurors' Office. Moody would toss random files on my desk to see what I could make of them— testing me to see if noticed all of the things I was supposed to. If I missed something, I'd get properly groused at for being inobservant and lacking at "constant vigilance," but when I found what I was supposed to there would be this moment when he cracked a wide smile and clapped me on the back. He'd take me out to dinner to this quaint little Scottish home-cooking establishment in the middle-of-nowhere. He told me I wasn't a real "Scottish wench" unless I could eat a proper haggis, neeps, and tatties. I had to recite the "Address to a Haggis" and sing Auld Lang Syne. When I managed to do all the above, I was allowed to bring my mam back a full haggis, complete with stomach, and get the stuffing squeezed out of me by a very proud Minerva.

My crowning achievement, at least in the opinions of the other Aurors who would "find" things for me to learn, was the ability to swear fluently in Scottish. Of course, they didn't tell me what they had been teaching me, and when Moody heard what they were teaching me, he practically threw the lot of them into the holding cell. The damage was already done, however, because I recognised every single word Moody called them.

"Don't ye be repeating any of that to your mam," Moody growled at me.

I had shaken my head frantically in response to the mere thought of such a thing.

No way! I knew my mam well enough to know _exactly_ what would happen if she ever caught me cursing in _ANY_ language, and there were very few places I could have picked up Scottish, especially such a comprehensive schooling in profanities more becoming of a Glasgow dockworker.

The chill of Grimmauld Place, though, was like walking into a meat freezer, and I suddenly felt quite alone.

_Pop._

The soft sound of house-elf Apparition signalled the arrival of Kreacher. He was carrying a tray with a large mug of frothy hot chocolate and a plate of fresh-baked biscuits. They smelled— absolutely glorious.

"Kreacher brings young mistress' favourite drink," the house-elf announced. He gently set the polished silver tray down on the side table, moving the drink and the biscuits over to me. He made the tray disappear, stoked the fire to life in the fireplace, and brought me an antique-looking quilt from the quilt rack in the corner. Someone had taken very good care of it. It was faded, but the stitches were still tight and strong and the edges were not frayed at all.

"Thank you, Kreacher," I said, comfortably snuggling beneath the quilt.

It was much warmer down in the kitchen, thanks to the fireplace. Kreacher was always close by, and the house-elf was always kind to me whenever other people weren't around. Even the portraits, which normally chattered or screamed at me when others were around, remained blissfully quiet. Down in the kitchen, I was close to the back gardens, and I had helped Severus set up potions laboratory in one of the many cellars.

There were a lot of stories about Professor Snape, but my relationship with him had drastically changed since I had been adopted by Minerva. As her daughter, I got to see quite a few "real" faces once the students left Hogwarts. He taught me how to brew healing potions, liniments, salves, and all things you-might-possibly-need-and-have-to-brew-them-over-a-campfire-sometime. He was actually a very practical teacher when he wasn't in front of an entire class of "raging dunderheads." He had been drilling me on how to shield my mind almost from the first night I had come back as Minerva's daughter, telling me that I should be practicing it faithfully until I could hold my shields up even in my sleep.

He had a dry sense of humour that practically oozed a well-honed edge of disdain for most human beings in general. He missed nothing. When he caught me trying to hide something— even something more embarrassing than a true secret— he would scold me for having "the pitiful shields typical of a cheeky Gryffindor." He knew just how much it flustered me, and he knew I'd refuse to let it go until I got better at hiding my thoughts from him. He taught me that most people project their thoughts, unknowing. The test of a true Legilimens was being able to read the thoughts buried deep below that. The test of the Occlumens was to make the Legilimens believe they were reading those thoughts. Most people thought it was all about blocking — but if that was all you did, it would be like covering up a door with a bookshelf. The door was still there, and the skilled person would know to check behind the shelf.

Often times, when Minerva was off doing all the important things she had to do for Hogwarts and the Order, it was Severus that watched over me. He, much like Moody, would give me things to work on, scold me when I failed at learning the proper lesson, and then give me that fraction of a nod and quirk of his lips to tell me I had done well. For Severus, that was like standing on top of a hill with a really large flag.

When it was just us, I was permitted to call him by his first name. It was my reward for salvaging an entire batch of Wolfsbane potion that had been contaminated by someone who had broken into the wrong cabinet looking for potion ingredients for their N.E.W.T. level classes. They had, despite being N.E.W.T. level, stirred the potion, foolishly thinking it wouldn't affect the potion (and tell them what it was.) Severus had used the infuriating situation as a teaching project to show me precisely how one stupid event could ruin an entire month's worth of hard work.

He was ready to run a trace on the magical imprint of the culprit, string them up by their toes and staple them to the rafters, but after I had begged him to let me attempt to fix it. It had taken me a week of tears, blood, cursing fluently in Scottish Gaelic, cursing in Latin, and an ungodly scream that had sent Severus running into the room at top, wand out, thinking I was being brutally slain by one of Hagrid's 'armless creatures.

He stared at me, then the cauldron of now-perfect Wolfsbane Potion, and then caught me just as I passed out in exhaustion. I woke up on his settee with an old copy of Advanced Potion Making that had extensive notes written in the margins by a very familiar hand, a blank, leather-bound journal, and— the most coveted and supposedly non-existent apprenticeship pin of Severus Snape. It was shaped like a normal button, blank upon first glance, but when I held it in my hand— I _knew_.

He said nothing. He didn't have to. I was all in.

Minerva hadn't had to ask me about training to be an Animagus either. That was my favourite summertime learning activity. I hadn't managed to make the shift, not yet, but mam was certain it would be soon. She had already registered me, preemptively, so if I did make the shift in the future with _out_ the ability to shift back, I wouldn't get in trouble for being an illegal Animagus.

No daughter of Transfiguration Mistress Minerva McGonagall was ever going to be a "bloody illegal Animagus."

On that same note, Severus also informed me, "No apprentice of mine is going to be a bleeding illegal Animagus."

I was seriously outnumbered if I wanted to be a "witless Gryffindor blithely charging into into the maelstrom of mayhem, just like the imbecilic Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Massive-Pain-In-Our-Collective-Arses". As a master, Severus was an highly exacting man with every specific standards of quality, and I will confess that I literally fell asleep mid-brew to find myself waking up back on Severus' settee once again, with a pot of tea and a large platter of sandwiches and biscuits waiting nearby. Lessons would begin again when I was properly caffeinated and fed, and sleep would happen with or without my permission. Sometimes my mam would arrive in the middle of the night, and she would cast quilts over us both, leave us a fresh pot of tea in stasis, make sure our projects were properly tended, and then give us both hell about it in the morning.

It was hard going back to normal class after growing into a relationship that inspired me to participate in a highly-competitive teacher-student creative insult flinging contest. I understood, from night after night of Occlumency and Legilimency lessons, that he had an image to uphold, and the image was not a nice one. He was not a particularly nice man, and sometimes I wondered if all of the small kindnesses were a merely a hallucination or a dream. He would snarl at me during class, forcing me into detention with him, but then, when the door closed behind me, all of those reservations would immediately fade away. The Severus I _knew—_ my master— was back again.

I never told his secrets, and he had never had to ask. His teaching me Occlumency was all I needed to know. He knew there would come a time when I would have to hide something important in the only place I could never be parted from: my mind.

"Mrowl," Crooks jumped up into my lap and purred, kneading my lap before flopping in it. He sprawled across my lap like a noisy log. His breath smelled like salmon, and I knew that Kreacher had tended the hungry half-Kneazle with the same attentiveness he always shown me, at least, when no one else was around. I never knew why Kreacher's demeanor went from such tender consideration to spewing hate and calling me a Mudblood. I thought, perhaps, when I was the only one here that maybe the house was lonely. Maybe, I was all the house had, and it was going to treat me nice when that was the case.

Truly, I had _no_ idea. I could only guess.

I knew that Kreacher was far more considerate than anyone ever gave him credit for. He had brought me this couch to sleep on, knowing that I liked to hang out in the kitchen when no one else was here. When others showed up, the couch would disappear, leaving no telltale evidence behind of his kindness.

The flames suddenly rose and crackled in the floo, and I tensed as a verdant green took over the warmer orange tongues of flame. A tall, dark, and pale figure stumbled out and my arms caught him just in time.

"Master?" I whispered softly.

I laid him down on the sofa, frowning as blood dripped heavily from his arm and chest. I summoned my bag to me, pulling out the cleverly hidden kit within my bag. From that, I pulled out my bottles of various potions and healing balms.

Severus' black eyes had swallowed up the whites, and his breathing came in harsh, painful gasps. His black robes were damp and sticky with blood. The strong coppery odor caused me to wrinkle my nose with distaste.

I worked quickly, Accio- _ing_ a wash basin to my call, filling it with water, and warming with a quick spell. As an apprentice, the trace had been removed from me. Apprenticeships were very old-school agreements. The master was responsible for the apprentice, and between my mam and Severus Snape, no one was ever going to question about me getting away with anything. Ever.

Masters and apprentices were a sacred bond. There were many laws that didn't apply to masters and their apprenticeships because of just how sacred that bond really was. I hadn't realised this until my mam told me exactly _why_ Severus hadn't taken an apprentice in all the years he had a potions master. He was responsible for me— as assuredly as my mam. His job was to teach and protect me, even if that meant protecting me against myself. My job, as apprentice was to trust him to do that and do exactly as I was told. I had to trust that what he was telling me to do had a valid reason. He had to trust that I'd do as I was told. We both had to trust each other. He had taken a big chance in trusting me. In taking me on, I had left him— vulnerable.

Bonds of trust aside, he was wounded, and I had all the potions and bandages. I stripped him down, carefully cleaning his wounds. I chanted the magic that sanitized possible Dark magic-infected wounds, and I smeared the rather smelly paste that I knew would mend his wounds without a scar. I traced intricate healing runes upon his skin, blowing on them gently to activate the magic, hoping it would be enough. Suddenly, I knew why he had drilled all of these things into me until I could do it in my sleep. He _knew_ that there would come a day when I would have to tend to such wounds, and he also knew it would most likely be his own life that lay in the balance.

I wrapped his wounds with soft cloth bandages to keep the balms and ointments on his skin and the dirt away. I sucked in a vial of the potion I knew he would need, rolling it around in my mouth to activate it as I thought the words of the spell that would reinforce the magic within the potion. I pressed my mouth to his, filtered the potion little by little into his mouth, using my hand to gently stroke his throat and massage it so he would swallow. I felt the powerful magic flare to life as the last of the potion left my mouth, and I pulled away, trying not to be too disgusted by the icky aftertaste of the potion.

I cleaned and mended his robes with a quick spell, then redressed him, knowing that he felt very uncomfortable without his multiple layers— his many, many layers of unrelieved black.

It occurred to me, as my mind sort of sank into a soul-deep weariness, that had I not been there, Severus may not have made it to the laboratory to heal himself. The thought troubled me. What if he had died? Had something happened unexpectedly that had tipped off You-Know-Who, or did the Dark Lord enjoy torturing his minions as part of his normal practice?

That didn't seem like a logical business practice to me.

Business practice?

Severus was wearing off on me. There had to be a reason or benefit to be found, for me, in everything. The other professors at Hogwarts said I was like a sponge. Given the opportunity, I gleaned and soaked up all sorts of knowledge and habits. I'd memorised Filius' swish and flick down to the tone of his squeaky voice. I'd picked up Professor Vector's way of tilting her head when she peered at an equation, and I'd even picked up the same feline scowl of my mam when she caught someone doing something she didn't approve of. Much to Minerva's amusement, I'd even picked up Alastor Moody's way of standing like I was offended and suspicious of everyone and everything.

I had meant to stay awake and keep watch over my fallen master, but exhaustion decided to suck me into the darkness of Oblivion. I woke to the light touch of a hand on my head and the familiar brush of fingers in my hair.

"Master," I whispered. Strange, calling him my master seemed more intimate than his given name. Perhaps, it was because of our secret— our partnership and bond. Even though Minerva knew and even approved, it wasn't something I ever really spoke of.

Fathomless black eyes met mine as he winced with a hint of pain. He said nothing, but he never had to. I was used to what he didn't say. "Thank you," he whispered.

I almost fell over. Verbal praise? My jaw dropped; my eyes widened.

His long, elegant fingers clacked my mouth shut. "You look like a fish," he added dryly.

I practically burst into tears, pressing my head against his robes in relief while trying not to injure him further. I pressed my fingers to his left arm, silently begging the question. Most of the wounds had been there. His skin had resembled raw beef that had been dragged behind the Hogwarts Express.

He nodded silently, wincing as I unwrapped the bandages to change the dressing. Angry pink scars had formed under the ointment and the compress. I cleaned it off, carefully avoiding completely debriding his skin even more than it had already done all on its own.

His opposite hand stilled mine in mid wipe. He stared at his arm as though trying to bore into it with a drill.

"Let me clean it, Master," I said, wiping the compress debris off his arm. The compress was a project of my own making. I had spent hours meditating in Pomona Sprout's greenhouses, trying to combine Arithmancy with Herbology for the perfect compress. Severus had encouraged it, saying it would make an ideal final mastery project if it worked, and Professor Sprout had been more than eager to teach me everything I could absorb about her favourite plants. After finding all of the plants that I would need, I spent months with Poppy Pomfrey, learning about what was needed to absorb and neutralise poisons, Dark magic wounds, and the all-encompassing "very bad things" that came with war, Dark wizards, Dark Lords, et cetera. When placed on a wound, the paste was thick and cool, a mixture of green and gold mashed herbs, magic, and a healing base to hold the paste together. I had balanced in ground bezoar as the basic poison-absorbing ingredient, but it was a combination of other plants from the greenhouse, magic, and potions. The main ingredient, however, or at least the ingredient that a bit hard to come by, was unicorn blood— freely given.

Now, if you read the lore on unicorns, you'd think they were the purest animals the Light had to offer, and they were— to a point. The thing was, unicorns didn't treat each other very nicely. Let me amend that by saying, the stallions liked to skewer each other, and they would tear into each other like Siamese fighting fish on sight. My master had shown me probably one of the biggest secrets he had on one chilly autumn morning— real, live, honest-to-Merlin, unicorns.

The Dark Forest had about a score of mated unicorn pairs nestled deep within its darkened woods, and they all guarded a very particular patch of forest. There was a lush, green clearing set in the middle, about an hour's hike from Hogwarts. It was neutral ground, at least for grazing purposes, and the peace was kept, usually, by the mares. They didn't tolerate the violence when they were bringing their foals out to graze, and female unicorns did not have the same "issues" as the males. Sometimes, the males would get so irritated by the truce, that they would attempt to skewer each other OUTSIDE of the peaceful clearing.

Here lay the irony: unicorn blood and the touch of a unicorn horn was purifying and healing, but not to the actual unicorn.

Severus taught me how to sit quietly in the clearing and get to know the unicorns. The mares would let their foals come up and snuffle me. A few would try to eat my master's hair. Others would romp around wildly, and one day the foals got a little _too_ excited and one kicked me in the head as another impaled me on its tiny, pristine horn.

I woke to one of the mares pressing her horn to my head, and another was pressing hers to my rather embarrassing unicorn horn impalement. The foals, whickered nearby, looking entirely abashed by their the unfortunate results of their behaviour. After the healing was completed, the mares lipped me tenderly on the shoulder with their velvet noses. That was when I discovered the tiny golden mark where that equally tiny unicorn horn had unintentionally shanked me. It had healed completely, but the scar was gold. Severus told me later that it was the unicorn's mark of acceptance. I'd be able to come out there without him from then on. The mares had marked me as worthy of healing.

From then on, whenever I visited, I tended their wounds as they had tended mine, patching up the slashes and stabs they gave each other as they dickered over territory and mares. In return, they allowed me to collect small samples of blood before sealing their wounds. The mark from the mares had also given me something I hadn't been expecting— acceptance by the centaurs.

The centaur patrols would often find me walking through, and they would accompany me there and back, saying that for me to be harmed would be a great slight to their honour, especially when the unicorns had accepted me. A large palomino centaur, who introduced himself as Firenze, taught me all about unicorn blood. It had the power to heal someone even on the very brink of death, but if it was taken without the unicorn's permission, the price of that healing was often far worse than death. He did not say what it was, but I knew from his dire expression that it was something so horrible as to be utterly unspeakable.

Fortunately, the amount of unicorn blood needed to make the compress was pretty minimal, and the stallions shed more than enough trying to skewer each other to death every breeding season. What was uncommon was the mutually beneficial relationship that Severus (and now myself) had with them. I had always wondered how he had gained such a gift in the first place, but every time I wanted to ask, I thought better of it. That he was willing to share the unicorns with me was enough. That they had accepted me was a gift beyond measure.

Severus gave a strangled cry, and that shook me out of my reverie. He held my hand before I could finish cleaning his arm and putting more compress on it.

"It's healing nicely," I promised him. "I swear it looked a lot worse last night."

He stared at me, shaking his head. "It's gone," he said, his eyes looking almost frightened.

"You'll probably scar a little," I apologised. "It was really bad."

His hand trembled. "Hermione," he whispered.

I knew something significant was going on. He usually called me anything but my given name.

"I did my best, I swear," I blurted quickly. "You were bleeding everywhere—"

Something in his expression stopped me from spilling my guts.

"The Mark," he whispered, voice almost too low to hear. "It's _gone_."

I frowned. Had he marked his arm with something he had to know? Had I washed it off when I cleaned his wound? Merlin, did I fuck something up really bad?"

"I'm sorry," I moaned, preparing to grovel. "I didn't mean to!" I was convinced he was going to give me that expression of complete disdain that he usually held for his other, normal, students. No worse, the expression he gave _Neville_ for befouling his classroom by spectacularly blowing up or melting yet another cauldron.

Severus was convulsing— no, his shoulders were shaking. He was in pain, but he was— _laughing_? It was a deep, throaty, utterly intoxicating sound. He was obviously still in pain, yet it didn't seem to bother him all that much. It was so out of character that I felt like I needed to check to see if I had caused a bad reaction with the combined potions, salves, and ointments.

"Master?" I whispered, contemplating how I would restrain my master if he really, _really_ didn't want to be restrained.

He turned to me, his black eyes glistening with overwhelming emotion. "Hermione, you are the only one who could do such grand things more by accident than by design." His pale fingers brushed my forever rebellious mane of hair back behind my ears. "While all the world just tries to blow themselves up, you— you glorious, brilliant girl— turn my entire world upside-down."

He slumped, exhausted, and I quickly reapplied the compress and ointments, carefully bandaging up this arm once more. I cleaned up the remnants of the old compress, frowning as I saw the gold and green colour had soaked up a foul-smelling, black nastiness. What had he been into? He'd obviously been beaten, possibly tortured, but his arm had looked as though someone had tried to shave it off. What the _hell_ had happened?

I pulled the quilt over my master and sighed wearily. Healing was a tough business, and I had so much more respect for Madam Pomfrey for being able to do it day after day, child after child, one medical crisis after another. The sheer amount of stress of holding someone's life in her hands must be staggering.

I had always enjoyed learning from Madam Pomfrey. She had enjoyed having an extra pair of hands around, and I don't think she was complaining that I was absorbing every bit of what she was teaching me, either. I think she was hoping that reaching me would help Harry and Ron in a pinch, and maybe she was right. The three of us practically had nameplates over our usual beds in the hospital wing.

I cleaned up the mess from dressing Severus' wounds, forced myself to my feet, and put some of the leftover tea and biscuits in stasis by the table near his head. For once, it would be him waking up to tea and biscuits and not me. I felt a strange tingle on my head, as if my ears were swiveling to pinpoint sounds and a strange twitch of muscles on my posterior. It was decidedly odd, but considering the oddball position I had been holding myself in while trying to deal with the wounds, I was thankful my much-abused spine hadn't totally given out on me.

I relinquished my comfy spot by the fire to Severus, feeling he deserved a nice, warm sleep after whatever brutality he had experienced that night at Voldemort's hands. I didn't know all of the details, but I wasn't a completely oblivious person. I knew that there had been something significant on his arm, though he had always been very careful to keep it covered. Apparently, I had somehow done something to it— or something had happened to his arm, and I had healed it— but whatever it might have been, a great weight had clearly been lifted off of his shoulders. I would just have to wait for him to tell me what it was.

The fireplace in the parlour had instantly come to vibrant life as if by magic, and I silently thanked Kreacher for tending it so well. Warm blankets and a pillow lay on the larger davenport, and I gratefully flopped onto it with a jaw-cracking yawn. I snuffled into the extra fluffy pillow, savouring the scent of herbs and woodsmoke that still lingered on it.

Blackness, like a long and cherished friend, enveloped me almost instantly, dragging me into the peace of Oblivion.

* * *

"Hey, Kitten, you here all alone?"

I opened one groggy eye to find Sirius Black staring at me from across the room. The stench of smoke and stale beer assaulted my nose long before I recognised his black leather biker's jacket and spiky black hair. Where Harry's always looked as though his mother had somehow mated with a mop, Sirius' hair always looked like he'd stuck his finger into an electrical socket— or had been out flying a kite in a lightning storm. His hair always looked stiff and strangely arrogant, as if even his hair was telling you that you were absolutely nothing to him without him ever having to say a single word.

I realised that my comfy pillow had been exchanged for one that looked like it'd been chewed on by animals, and the quilt that had been so carefully set out for me was exchanged with what looked like Molly Weasley's thirds or fourths. The portrait was screaming from above the stairs—her voice terribly shrill and grating— letting fly with a wide variety of profanities about "filthy mudbloods and half-breeds," "stains of shame and dishonour," and "not in my Lord father's house." Strange, whenever I was there alone, the portrait remained quiet, but it sure happened whenever Sirius was around. Thinking back, it hadn't happened when I was tending my master, either. I really should ask Kreacher about it, but I didn't want to offend him. He was always vicious and nasty when others were around, but I didn't want him to be that way when I was alone with him. I valued that bit of tenderness and peace while I was here— until it became a nuclear battleground.

Kreacher had popped in with tea, but Sirius took one swig and spat it out directly in the house-elf's face. "What _is_ this swill?" he snarled, swiftly kicking Kreacher halfway down the hall with one booted foot. Then the tea service went flying and subsequently crashed across the battered, hardwood floor spilling tea, milk, and sugar everywhere. The house-elf mumbled something that ended in "honoured to serve the most Noble and Ancient House of Black" as he disappeared.

"Sorry about that, Kitten," Sirius said. "I'm afraid the little bastard would try to poison you if he could.

My eyes darted, and I pulled the somewhat moth-eaten blanket fully over myself, despite being fully clothed. Kreacher had always made me freshly baked biscuits and tea that seemed like sky between the branches. I had never once had a bad meal from him. Sometimes, he would bring me the most delicate and savoury foods like roast duck with mint sauce and even the tiny game hens with sides of honeyed carrot medallions and some sort of casserole that tasted like absolute heaven. All of that would change whenever any others were about, though. The food would taste like stale cardboard, and the drinks downright unpalatable. I never managed to get a mug of hot chocolate or a single kind word out of Kreacher when there were others in the house. I was lucky if I got a stale piece of bread with no mould on it.

I had a vague memory of my latest dream— something about the forest, odd yipping cries, basking in the moonlight, and a strange craving for wild berries and random rodents. Honestly, I wasn't sure where that one had come from. Well, short of sheer lack of sleep. I'd once dreamed I was flying over the Forbidden Forest with Fawkes, and then dream had changed into one of me riding on a magic carpet with Fluffy barking ferociously and chasing after me. I'd had another when Ron was dressed up in a frothy pink dress, brandishing a mewing kitten plate over his family assets, and professing his love for Quidditch to Harry on the pitch at Hogwarts like one would profess undying love to a significant other. There were surreal ones, such as Draco being surprisingly friendly and studying with me in the library, Neville excelling in potions, and Seamus talking in Chinese. Such odd dreams were commonplace for me. Sane dreams only worried me. I'm glad Trelawney never got wind of them. I'm pretty sure death, doom, destruction, and an ominous cry of "We're all going to die!" would be tops on her list.

One thing my dreams taught me was that I never, ever, wanted to be in a situation where seeing Ronald Bilius Weasley's bits was anywhere close to becoming a possibility. Lavender could bloody well _have_ him. Forever and ever and with my full blessings. Please, for the love of Merlin, take him away far, far from my traumatized brain. To be fair, I never wanted to see Harry's, Neville's, or most anyone else's, either, but I didn't have to dream about such things to set that devout wish into stone.

As I came to the realization that I was alone in the house with Sirius Black, I realised my comfort level had not improved so much as it had distinctly lowered. I had met him in perhaps the most dangerous situation I could have been in: huddled in the Shrieking Shack, thinking I had been cornered by a murderer. Then there was the unexpected greeting between Professor Lupin and Sirius Black. Suddenly, Peter Pettigrew was outed as the betrayer— Wormtail, also known as Ron's pet, Scabbers the rat. Even after Sirius had thrown himself at the transformed Professor Lupin to save Harry, I had never felt completely at ease with him.

But the reason was eluding me. It was a mere feeling, nothing more.

I really shouldn't think so badly of him. Crookshanks had helped him— seemed to trust him. Why, then, did I still have this feeling that things somehow weren't right with him? Maybe— maybe it was the alcohol. My father once told me that he didn't drink alcohol because he had seen all-too-well what drinking did to others, and he didn't like what he saw. Moody, who had quite a reputation for keeping firewhisky in his flask at all times, had actually let me take an experimental swig, much to the horror of Kingsley, who had been watching us. Moody had just laughed as he told me to tell poor Kingsley what it really was: Muggle ginger beer. Sweet as a summer tonic and enough kick to make your eyes go slightly crossed. Auror Kingsley had laughed himself into a wheezing, choking wreck of a wizard, clapping Moody heartily on the back before finally dragging himself off to work.

I had found myself in a lot of similar moments— getting to see the real people behind their professional masks. Normally, it was the kindness and warmth behind the mask, but something inside seemed to be trying to warn me that Sirius wasn't like that at all. There was something vaguely sinister hiding behind that mask of friendliness.

Constant vigilance.

What would Moody tell me to do?

"Lass, your gut is the first thing that will tell you something is wrong," he had told me as I fussed over a practice case file. "It will also tell you when something is right. You just have to practice listening to it enough to know the difference."

"This one," I had answered, pointing to the kindly-looking old wizard smoking a pipe.

Alastor stared at me, his eye whirling around. "You think the kindly-looking old man smoking a pipe is the Dark wizard, and this bloke is not?" He pointed to the rough, scruffy-looking wizard covered in dirt.

"Yes," I had answered, feeling (and probably looking) quite stupid.

Moody narrowed his magical eye as the other one stared deep into my eyes. "Why?"

I remember swallowing very hard before answering him. "That guy is covered in magical soot. His story about mixing up two potions by accident and setting himself on fire was highly probable. The Auror on site said that he smelled like licorice and fresh paint, and that is the odor you get when mixing Pepperup and sobering potions. They also explode if not mixed together in the proper proportions."

I had pointed to the kindly-looking older man with the pipe. "This guy said he was watching Merlin Geese nesting on his pond during the murder. That's impossible. Merlin Geese nest in the middle of winter; that's why they were dubbed Merlin Geese. Their eggs hatching seemed to be a miracle because it happened in the middle of a particularly harsh winter. Rumour has it that they are called Merlin Geese because the magi-zoologists would say, 'Merlin, it's cold out there!' every time they'd come back inside after watching them. There is no _way_ he could be watching Merlin Geese nesting in July."

Moody's eyes stared into me— his magical one coming to an eerie stop.

"You owe me fifty galleons, Alastor," Kingsley crowed from his desk, sporting a wide smile.

Moody's scowl turned into a broad Cheshire cat grin. "Good job, lass."

"You're never going to get her to take your job, Moody," Auror Savage snickered as he poured himself a coffee. "All you're doing is driving her into a promising career in academics, far, far away from the likes of us."

"Psh," Moody snorted. "Shut it, Savage."

Kingsley had won fifty galleons that day; I got a huge ice cream sundae. It had tasted like sweet, sweet victory.

Somehow, I knew that my gut feeling of Sirius Black was _not_ going to win me a celebratory ice cream sundae. If I failed at it, I wasn't going to get a scowl and try again. I would probably end up being ostracised by most of the Order and, most of all, Harry and Ron.

"Harry says you are brilliant," Sirius said, staring at me with a strange intensity. "Remus seems to think you're are the brightest witch of your age."

I flushed. I liked praise, but being told I was the brightest witch of my age always felt like— sarcasm. Perhaps I was a little too used to Severus calling me "stupid girl" or "bloody know-it-all." Oddly enough, I didn't view such words as the insults that most thought they were. They were almost "that horrible nickname that you can't shake because you did something embarrassing to get it."

"My lovely young cousin seems to think your talent is wasted pining over someone who will never be able to appreciate a bird like you," Sirius said in a low, rolling purr. "Nursing a crush on someone, hrm?"

My eyes went wide. _What?_ "No, there's— no one."

"Not that I don't blame you for going for older men," he continued with a smirk, "but you could do so much _better_ than letting the likes of Snivellus touch you."

 _Wha—_ My mind was stalled, frozen in shock. I was like the deer cornered by a spotlight or the Niffler caught in the act with the crown jewels clutched between his paws. I had expected him to think I was crushing on Harry or Ron— anyone but my master. Who would have told him that I— wait, _cousin_?

Think, Hermione, think.

Outside of Hogwarts, where was the only place Severus was ever seen in public with me? Weekends and the summer months I always spent either with my mam at our summer cottage or neck deep in Auror files thanks to Aurors Moody and Kingsley. The only people who knew who was on the short, authorised list of people who could pick me up from the Auror's office were the Aurors themselves. The list was quite small: my mam, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Amelia Bones, and Severus Snape. They were also the only ones who knew about my adoption— well, aside from Gringott's. The goblins always addressed me as Miss McGonagall. Minerva was a known Order member, and for my safety, they wanted to keep the adoption on the low. I would graduate as Hermione Granger, and when the war was finally over and done, I could finally greet my mam as the mother she was and proudly call myself Hermione Granger McGonagall.

That meant that the person who somehow leaked information to Sirius had ties to the Aurors' office— but who? Aurors were usually very tight-lipped, especially knowing Moody, who had made it very plain that he would rip the face off of anyone should they ever endanger or gossip about me, or Kingsley, who made it clear I was considered family. I was, whether I wished to be considered so or not, a member of the Auror family.

All the full Aurors knew me on sight, and all of them treated me like they would their very own child. Who, then, could it possibly be?

_Cousin._

_Oh._

Auror trainee, Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda _Black_ Tonks, Sirius' "lovely young cousin." Andromeda's portrait had been scorched off of the Black family tree after she married a Muggleborn wizard, Ted Tonks. I had memorised the entire family tree during one particularly boring afternoon with Kreacher as my only company. If someone— Tonks— had been new, she may have thought my attentiveness as Severus' apprentice was something like a schoolgirl crush. As a trainee, she wouldn't have known the reason Severus was picking me up.

"Ron seems to think Snape has been giving you way too many detentions," Sirius observed slyly. "Says he feels sorry for you, that you don't complain, and that you might even _fancy_ the git. Now that," he said with a disdainful curl of his lip, "is just not right."

He was talking to Ron? To _**RON?**_

"I do _not_ fancy Professor Snape," I bit out, trying not to grit my teeth together.

"You just need the right kind of wizard to show you where the real magic lies," Sirius said in a voice that practically dripped with sugary sweetness. His hand was slowly caressing my thigh, moving up towards my— Merlin, what the _hell_?!

I could smell a strong odor of alcohol on his breath as he drew ever nearer, and alarm bells were going off in my head though sheer disbelief had temporarily rendered me paralysed. He was definitely interested, and the sight of his proof was enough to make my blood run cold. I pulled away. "No!" I said firmly. "Whatever you heard was _wrong_! I am not interested in Professor Snape or _anyone_ else!"

"Oh, don't be playing so hard to get now, Kitten," Sirius breathed into my face. "If you can fancy an inferior specimen of manhood like that beak-nosed, greasy-haired sleazeball, then we can definitely have us a good time, eh?"

" _ **NO!"**_ I exclaimed. "Please, get away from me, Sirius! _**Back off!"**_

"Oh, I am _very_ serious," he answered me darkly. "If Snivellus is getting some young bird with no sense of what a real man is, then it is my Merlin-given duty as a wizard to reeducate her."

Then he grabbed my shoulders and pinned me down.

I struggled, squirming, and he smacked my head hard against one of the sofa's rolled arms, causing me to see stars. Fear coursed rapidly through every vein and artery of my body. My wand— where was my _wand?!_

"If someone ever tries to hold you down, Hermione," Auror Savage had instructed, "and they are unfortunate enough to be a male, smash your knee between their legs and get away as quickly as you can. Don't stop. Don't look for your wand. Don't even _think_ about trying to cast a spell. Just get the hell out of there immediately."

His knees were pinning my legs down, forcing them open and rendering me unable to move. I whimpered as my wrists burned where he grasped them so tightly that I swore they were being crushed. I had no way to do what Savage had told me to do. I couldn't lever him off of me enough to move, much less attempt to mount a counter-attack or escape.

_**HISSSSSSSS!** _

A blur of ginger fury slammed into Sirius' face, claws fully extended and out for blood. The sounds of tearing, ripping, and yowling began to echo through the room. Crookshanks tore into Sirius' face with his front claws, hind claws, and teeth all working together to take out his feline rage on the bastard who dared to assault his mistress.

I used that initial moment of shocked surprise to maneuver the drunken wizard off of me, smashing him headfirst into the antique coffee table. Crooks went flying, having been grabbed and thrown hard by an infuriated Sirius. I was running— running as fast as I could towards the front door, trying desperately to Apparate, but nothing was happening. I might as well have been at Hogwarts. Nothing happened.

Sirius snarled, tackling my legs out from under me. I was slammed hard against the floor, crying out as my hands and elbows worked to pull me along— anything, _ANYTHING_ to get me away from him. My trousers were being yanked down to my knees, and I was writhing, wriggling, and tearing myself out of them, trying to make like a snake and shed my outer skin to free myself. My one leg was free, and I kicked out as hard as I could, feeling the pain travel up my leg as I connected, ramming it into his face with a loud _crack_.

"Like it rough, do ya, kitten?" he growled at me. "I can give you _exactly_ what you want."

Pain bloomed across my face as he backhanded me hard across the face, and I was seeing stars again, blackness threatening to swallow me whole.

No, _please_. Don't let this be the end. Fear— primal and rooted in the basic drive to survive— spread through my body until every fibre of my being was coated in pure adrenaline.

_Fear of the dog._

_Gnashing teeth._

_Claws of pain._

_Jaws of death._

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door.

"Open up, cousin! You better not be drunk, yeah? I brought hot pasties!"

Just for a second, the painful pressure on my body eased, and I grabbed it like a lifeline. I burst free, channeling all of my desperation, magic, terror, pain, and raw will to survive into escaping, and I was free— running on all fours like an animal and not even caring as long as I got away.

_Escape!_

_Dark!_

_Flee!_

_Dog!_

_Jaws of death!_

I tore down the hall, past the kitchen, and dove into the blessed darkness of the cellar.

* * *

"Merlin, Sirius," Tonks gasped. "What the bloody _hell_ happened to your face?"

"Got in a bit of a scrap with some long-nailed bloke at the tavern," Sirius muttered.

"It looks like you got in a fight with McGonagall in her cat form," Tonks said, her eyebrows rising high into her bubblegum pink hair.

"Bah, the blood makes it seem worse than it is," Sirius said, grabbing a scrap of cloth to blot the blood from his face.

"You are such a _dog_ , cousin," Tonks admonished. "Are you seriously blotting off the blood on your face with some poor witch's _knickers_?"

Sirius smirked. "Care to have a go?"

"Ugh, stop," Tonks said, wrinkling her nose at him. "Don't make me remind you just why I got top marks in making boys cry."

Sirius pouted, sticking out his swollen bottom lip.

"Hey, you seen Hermione? She here yet? Tonks asked, looking around. "This place is a total mess. You weren't shagging someone while Hermione was _here_ , were you?"

Sirius snorted, checking to see if his bleeding was slowing any. Muttering a particularly vile profanity under his breath, he grabbed the cloth and blotted himself some more. "I've been busy."

"Busy," Tonks repeated disbelievingly.

"Worse than Half-bloods! Right here, in my house! Get out!" Walburga's portrait screamed. "Half-bloods, Mudbloods— stains on our noble family's pride and honour. Blood-traitors and filth! _**GET OUT!"**_

"Lovely family you have there," Tonks commented dryly, frowning as Sirius took the crumpled scrap of feminine clothing and tossed it into the fireplace. "You let some witch leave here half-dressed and you just toss her knickers into the fireplace? What if those were her favourites?"

"I'll just buy her a few new ones," Sirius harrumphed. "Knickers can be replaced. "Me, however, she'll _never_ forget."

"You know, my mum always said that you were a real dog when you went to Hogwarts," Tonks said with a sigh. "She believed Azkaban would change you for the worst, that the place takes away any good you may have had inside of you."

"And what do _you_ think, Nymphy," Sirius asked casually as he rearranged the cushions on the sofa.

"I think you had a real bum rap," Tonks sighed. "I'm still not all that sure about you, Sirius. I mean, just _look_ at this place. You're about as responsible as a teenaged bloke at his new bachelor pad. Dumbledore seems to think you're worth sticking our necks out for, so I'm trying to see more than some horny wizard always looking for a new bird of the week to shag."

"Aw, I have so many years to make up for, baby cousin," Sirius purred. "I'm an innocent man."

Nymphadora raised a brow. "By the looks of your residence, I would say you should start with some general housekeeping. The others will start showing up here soon. Molly will complain that you're setting a bad example for the children. "

Sirius shook his head. "Why're you here so early, cousin?"

"Moody wanted me to make sure Hermione got here okay," Tonks replied with a small frown. "She was supposed to check in this morning."

"Oh, and why would old Moody care?" Sirius muttered. "She's no Dark witch."

Nymphadora snorted. "He has a soft spot for her. Keeps her on a scheduled check in to make sure she's alright."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Odd for a child. He doesn't do that for Harry or Ron does he?"

"You know Harry," Tonks snickered. "He's not really good about checking in when he's in the middle of getting into trouble."

"Right example of his father, that one," Sirius said, rubbing his stubble.

"You sure she didn't slip in last night while you were—" Tonks trailed off, "entertaining a guest?" She went to sit down, but she tripped over the umbrella box, splattering herself across the floor rug with a loud thump.

"You're a horrible cat, Nymph," Sirius muttered.

Tonks sighed, setting the umbrellas to rights and picking up the debris. Her hand paused as she felt a small, round, smooth button. She looked back at Sirius, shaking her head and pocketing the button smoothly.

Sirius was kicking a fresh log into the fireplace, watching the evidence of his depredations quickly burning into a small pile of unidentifiable ash. "So, any news on the Auror front? I'm dying here. Of total boredom."

Nymphadora shook her head. "Same old, same old Auror stuff. Moody is never happy with me. I trip too much, I trust too easily— you'd think I can't do anything right."

"What, no commentary on the bright pink hair?" Sirius ribbed, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Psh," Tonks grunted. "My hair is only one of many things I can't seem to do right. "Constant vigilance all the time, but he's bloody drinking firewhisky out of that stupid flask of his and then he has the nerve to tell me _my_ judgement is impaired."

There was a loud crashing noise that seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and Sirius was up and out the door and down the hall before Tonks could even blink.

"Siri—"

As much as she really wanted to chase after him, something else caught her eye. She knelt, spotting the glint of metal and found a delicate chain with an oval locket on the strand. She picked it up, opening the clasp. A moving picture of Harry, Ron, and Hermione making silly faces at a camera lay inside. The chain had been broken, the clasp bent and snapped.

Tonks frowned. While it was certainly _possible_ that it could have been there ever since the last Order meeting, she knew that Sirius had a house-elf. Lost items just didn't happen in magical houses. She knew because she'd tried to pull the wool over her mum's eyes many times only to be caught in a lie when her mother summoned the house-elf with her supposedly "lost" homework, jewelry, or a sweater she couldn't stand wearing.

Quick footsteps and a vicious snarl came from down the hall as Sirius stormed back. She quickly tucked the locket away in her pocket and sat on the couch, trying to look perfectly at ease. "Problems?" she casually asked her cousin.

"Bah," Sirius muttered. "Stupid sodding house-elf. I swear he lives just to find new ways to piss me off."

"So what was it this time?"

"Dropped an entire kettle of stew all over the kitchen floor," Sirius groused. "He knows I _loathe_ stew, too."

"Well, I need to go check in with Moody before he has an aneurysm," Tonks sighed. "I'll see you later this evening when everything filters in, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," Sirius grumped. "Not like I can actually leave this place anyway. Bloody Dumbledore."

Tonks shook her head. "Hey, when this is all said and done, your name will finally be cleared. We just have to find that bloody rat and it'll all be right again."

Sirius sighed. "Moody would rather see me back in Azkaban."

Tonks shrugged. "You broke out of Azkaban, cousin. Even if you are perfectly innocent, and we _are_ working very hard to prove that, he's still an Auror. He'll _always_ be an Auror."

Sirius raised a brow. "And you, cousin? What happens when they take the training wheels off your Auror broom?"

Tonks gave him a sideways grin. "Just don't do anything too stupid or unlawful, and you'll be fine in my book."

"Booooring," Sirius replied with a grin.

"You're horrible," Tonks said. "Next time, just answer the sodding door, eh? I was about the break down the door thinking you'd been abducted by Death Eaters."

"More likely to be killed by an avalanche of temperamental paintings, cousin," Sirius muttered. "Go on, before old Moody has your hide."

Tonks was half out the door before she turned. "She was _supposed_ to be here, Sirius. Where could Hermione have gone?"

Sirius pretended to ponder for a few moments. "Probably the Burrow. They were having that big family reunion, weren't they? Pretty much everyone will be there."

"Oh right, the reunion!" Tonks sighed. "That's where she must be. And here I am being all paranoid that something might've happened to her. She's probably buried in Weasleys right along with Harry. I should probably send her an owl, just to be sure."

"Naw, those three are like Nifflers with treasure, Tonks," Sirius offered lightly. "I'm sure they will all show up tonight for the meeting."

"You're right," Tonks agreed. "Later, cousin."

"Mmmhmm," Sirius said, closing the door behind her as a very dark expression moved across his face. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, Kitten. You're hiding in _my_ house, lover girl. No Apparition, no floo, no way out for you. Only Black magic will get you out of this place, and as that means me, I strongly suggest you come out now and make nice before I _really_ get angry."

Sirius pointed his wand to hand and hissed, scarlet drops of blood dripping from his palm. He let it drop on the floor of the house as the ancient wards flared to life.

"Here, kitty, kitty."

* * *

_Fear._

_Pain._

_Dog._

_Flee!_

Every instinct I had was screaming at me to get out of there. Get out _NOW_! Get away—find safety. A small voice nagging in the back of my mind screamed at me to go back for my wand, while the other part said, better to lose a wand and a few potions you can re-brew than go back to where—

_DOG!_

_FEAR!_

_PAIN!_

The very thought of Sirius brought up up images of vicious snarling dogs and the gnashing of canine teeth. There was no _way_ I was going back to where he was. I had practically dived into the murky darkness of the root cellar, not even thinking about where I was going. It was pure instinct— the overwhelming need to survive— that brought me there. I could hear talking through the floor above, muffled but clear enough to hear Tonks talking to Sirius. Sirius, however, obviously had her completed fooled.

_FOOLED!_

It wasn't just Tonks, though. He had fooled everyone. Maybe he was a hero, and maybe he wasn't. But there was definitely a dark side to Sirius Black, one that no one had ever expected.

"Young mistress, this way," I suddenly heard.

Kreacher?

I tried to reply, but all that came forth was a yip and a growl.

"This belongs to young mistress, please. Kreacher here. Saved your wand from the fire."

I heard a soft creak as a bright shaft of daylight streamed in from across the cellar, veiled slightly by a heavy layer of cobwebs. The house-elf stood on the tips of his toes, pushing the cellar door open just wide enough for me to get out.

I crept cautiously across the cellar floor, keeping low to the ground. It felt more natural to be closer to the ground. My eyes adjusted to the gloom faster than usual, and the light from outside was almost blinding, but I knew that freedom lay beyond.

I made a sudden break for it, diving towards the beams of sunlight just as I had previously dove into the concealing darkness of the cellar. As I entered into the blessed sunlight, a wave of sensory overload hit me— scents so strong, sounds so loud— I could hear the very rustling of rodents in the garden. I was suddenly very, very hungry.

I looked this way and that, and I tried to stand up, but fell to my side with yip.

I squirmed around, getting back on all fours. Ah, that was better. Wait, _what_?

I looked down my nose and saw a small black nose wiggling surrounded by reddish-brown fur with a strange, almost coppery cast to it. Long black whiskers wriggled along the sides of my face— muzzle— whatever. I looked down to see black paws wreathed in a sort of pale, green magical flame.

_Whaaaaa?_

Was this my Animagus form? Oh, gods, what in the seven hells _was_ I? My meditations had been strange. My form had never come to me as one thing. I had seen everything from a puffy white cloud to a Dementor, a bloody frisbee, and even a few random species of birds. Minerva had said the meditations weren't always a gauge for what I would be, but apparently I had turned into something I hadn't even thought of!

"Young miss must escape," Kreacher urged, jarring me out of my confused thoughts. "Saved mistress' bag, Kreacher did. Put supplies inside. Very important things that miss must know about. Kreacher will tie bag around your neck."

Tie them around my… oh, _right_.

Kreacher seemed much more my size now, and the beaded bag went around my neck with a soft rustle, thankfully not reflecting the true weight of whatever he had placed inside. My wand was in there somewhere, thank the gods. Somehow— bless his little house-elf heart— he had rescued it from the remains of my favorite pair of trousers, which had been left (under major duress) in the parlour.

"Back gate is sheltered by hedges," Kreacher told me. "No one ever goes back there but Kreacher. Wards are up, young mistress. You must bleed on them to escape. Move fast. Gate will shut the moment your blood is dry."

This house was protected by blood magic? It shouldn't have surprised me, but— wasn't Sirius supposed to have been disowned by his parents?

Things were way too confusing right now. I really had to escape. I really wanted a plump, juicy mouse or a unwary chicken, and needed to find a way to get to my mam, Moody, or Severus. If this was my Animagus form, I wasn't sure if it would wear off or shed according to my will or emotions, and the last thing I needed was to show up half-naked in the middle of someplace full of random Muggles… Hell, I didn't want to show up half-naked in front of any magicals either. No thank you!

Kreacher tugged on the bag to make sure it was fastened securely. "Careful, young mistress," he cautioned. "Kreacher will make loud noise in kitchen. When you hear it, open the gate."

I tried to say thank you, but it came out as a yip and growl.

"You're welcome, mistress," Kreacher said, and with a pop, was gone.

I made a beeline for the hedges, diving under them and around until I found the far gate. Sure enough, there it was, heavily covered with ivy, but still functional— at least I dearly _hoped_ it was functional.

Kreacher had said I had to bleed on it.

I sat down in front of it, looking it over. The damn thing wasn't even rusty. I found myself staring at my tail. Maybe if I—

_Chomp._

Mouth full of thick, fluffy fur. Nope. That was not going to work.

I spat out a mouthful of fur, my tongue making odd sounds as I tried to evict the remaining fur from my mouth. _Do not do that again. Check._

I stared at my paws. Hrm.

I turned my paw over to expose the smooth black pads. Maybe? Do I bite them or try to claw myself? I didn't really want to do either. I had to run on those to escape.

_Ow!_

My thoughts were interrupted as my tongue attempted to impale itself on a few of my very sharp teeth. I tasted blood. Well then…

_**Crash!** _

I heard something heavy being dropped in the kitchen, just as Kreacher had promised. Well, here goes nothing.

I licked the gate, smearing my blood over the enchanted metal.

_Creeeaaaaaaakkkk._

The gate opened like the door of a haunted house in a Muggle horror movie, causing me to suppress an instinctive shudder.

Then I was out the gate as fast as my feet could carry me. The metal was quickly absorbing the blood, because I could feel the gate nearly closing on the end of my tail just as I popped through it.

_Yip!_

I tumbled into the long grass just beyond, staring at my tail to take a quick inventory of what I had left, fully expecting to find myself missing half a fluffy tail. I felt a strange tingling warmth and a surge of ecstatic victory as a second tail materialised right in front of my eyes.

_Whaaa?_

_Okay, Hermione, there are very few creatures in the world that have multiple tails._ There are far more creatures with more heads than tails— Orochi the giant serpent had multiples of both. I was definitely not that. I had a bushy fox-like tail, erm, make that tails. I could feel my ears swiveling. I had a long muzzle and reddish-brown fur, black pads on my paws. All things were pointing to fox, but there was only one creature I knew of that both looked like a fox and had multiple tails: the Japanese yōkai , the Kitsune.

_Oh, what the hell. Was there ever anything in my life that was perfectly normal?_

I was running top speed without even realising it. Apparently, even while my brain was contemplating my situation, part of me remembered about an insignificant little thing called survival. Well, at least my new aspect of myself was looking out for us.

There was a small fountain and park in between the houses and gardens, and I did my best to stay out of sight. I heard nothing chasing me, and even better yet, I wasn't hearing Sirius's voice anymore. No small amount of relief there. My stomach was growling, and my thoughts went straight to food. My sensitive nose smelled food, too, which further derailed my thoughts to a another survival concern.

As I leapt over one more garden wall of many, I saw them: Sussex hens milling about in the yard, predating on the bugs in the family garden. I licked my chops hungrily. The chickens were a few different colours: red, white, the sienna buff, speckled, and even a grey speckled hen. They looked beautiful, but they smelled absolutely delicious.

I hopped down into the garden, my senses alert for attack by an attentive rooster.

"'Ey there," a man said from the shade of a garden umbrella.

I froze.

"If it's food ye be wantin', I have a basket of fresh eggs 'ere, my wee friend," he said with a strange warmth. "I'd quite appreciate it if you left me my hens, though. They provide so the kids are fed. We sell the eggs down at market proper. Most magical folk don't seem to remember eggs come from actual chickens. They seem ta think they grow out of the ground or hang off a plant like a tomato and ye just pick 'em."

I cocked my head and sat down. He seemed friendly enough.

The man placed the basket down on the ground and nudged it closer to me with his foot. I crept closer, sniffing. Eggs. Oh, glorious eggs. Perfect little treasure chests of golden goodness awaited!

I cautiously stuck my muzzle into the basket and came out with a speckled brown egg, and I cracked into it with my teeth, lapping the insides up with my tongue. My eyes watched him, waiting for him to make a lunge for me, but it never happened. He sipped his iced tea calmly, his posture relaxed, and his legs crossed. I went into the basket again, pillaging another egg and quickly making it disappear. Meanwhile, the hens were happily chasing bugs around the yard, seeming to realise that I wouldn't be dining on them that day.

I made about a dozen eggs disappear before my belly was full and content.

_Yip!_

The man smiled at me. "Like that, did ya, pretty lass? Don't see many Kitsune around here. Last one I saw was in Japan guarding an ancient temple, but that was ages ago." He stroked his beard and sighed wistfully. "You look like you're on yer way to someplace important. I hope ye find it."

I stood, licking my jowls and waving my tails back and forth, happy to have a full stomach and a kind face watching over me.

I felt a sudden affection towards him, and I wanted to pay him back for his great kindness. The feeling was like a craving, and it spread from my head to the tip of my tail, filling me with warmth. I felt my tails lashing back and forth wildly, and the wispy green flames consumed me.

_Fwoosh._

Flames jumped from me and enveloped each of the chickens around me in flames.

Oh Merlin, please, don't tell me I murdered the poor man's chickens! Not after he was kind enough to feed me!

The man let out a gasp and rushed forward, and I scrambled out of the way, terrified that I'd just committed wanton gallinicide.

Good one, Hermione. Not even one day out, and you've murdered all of the poor man's poultry.

"Merlin's beard," the man gasped. "They're all Magicae hens! I remember seeing a pair at the last rare magical poultry show. The eggs, just the unfertilised eggs alone, sold for nearly a hundred galleons." The man stared at me with utter amazement and no little awe. "Stay right here, I beg you. I'll be back in a tick."

I couldn't help but indulge a surge of pure curiosity. I looked around the yard and saw that all of the chickens had been transformed into enormous, radiant, pearlescent birds with golden combs. Their feet were as red as blood. The rooster was a deep midnight blue with combs the colour of freshwater pearls. Even the chicks— they were dark purple and black fuzzballs on bright red legs. I turned my eyes up, feeling something strange on my head. There was a chick perched right between my ears, peeping.

I wasn't a poultry farmer, but I think I had just given this family the proverbial golden geese.

The farmer returned with two small wooden bowls, ornately carved and polished with beeswax until they shimmered. He set them both down. In one, was pile of steamed rice. In the other, he poured some sort of liquid that smelled really good.

"Thank you, friend spirit," the man said, going to his knees and bowing. "Please accept my gratitude for your visit and blessing to my family."

I was pretty sure I wasn't a spirit, but then again, I was sure I was entirely human just a few hours ago. This man was obviously insistent on playing proper respect to tradition, and tradition was smelling positively divine at the moment. Despite my dozen egg meal, that liquid ambrosia and the perfectly cooked rice was calling out to me.

I stepped forward, tentatively lapped at the liquid, and felt my heart sing with joy. I lapped the glorious drink from the bowl, my tongue sliding across the surface to make it all disappear, and then I moved on to the bowl of white rice. The rice was sweet and sticky, and totally delicious. It was enough to make me swear off eggs forever, if only I could eat and drink this for the rest of my life!

_Yip!_

I was filled with a glorious feeling of satisfaction and joy of life.

_Fwoop!_

And I had just gained another tail.

The man stared at me, a grand smile spreading across his face. The puffball chick between my ears cheeped as if offering congratulations. "My name is Jonas Collier. My home is yours, if you should ever need shelter or food. This I swear, on my life and my magic." He had his wand out, and he saluted me with it. Warm, radiant magic formed an orb at the end of his wand and sealed his oath.

I approached him tentatively, placed my paws on his knees, and gave him a fond slurp across the nose. I gently nudged the chick into his cupped hands and then took off across the garden. I leapt over the fence like it was nothing.

_Yip!_

That display of such genuine, unselfish kindness seemed to give me power beyond measure. I felt as though I could fly. It was almost enough to make me forget what had originally brought me to Jonas Collier's garden patch.

I knew I had to get myself to safety and quickly. I thought of Minerva, and realised I had no idea where she would be right now. Our cottage was way up in Scotland along the coast, and my chances of getting up there or to Hogwarts were very slim. I thought about Moody— he was right here in London— but he was probably out working and off doing Auror things. Even if I could somehow Apparate, I'd still have to know _exactly_ where I was going—

Severus!

He was always a safe place for me, but how would I find him? I had no idea where he lived outside of Hogwarts. He had left Grimmauld Place before I had woken up, so he could be anywhere. No, he would be somewhere safe where he could heal. Where would that be? Hogwarts was out. He'd often told me that the school was not relaxing in the slightest. He'd left before dawn— what if he had been called away to do something for Dumbledore?

Suddenly, I remembered him talking about trying to sell an old dump called Spinner's End— the place he had grown up in. It was in Cokeworth, wasn't it? I pondered hard, trying to remember. He'd said the place had more bad memories than good ones, but it was the one place no one would bother to look for him because no one would ever think he'd willingly go back there. That must be where he— _ARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_

I slammed right into a dead, potted plant languishing on someone's back porch. The air smelled heavily of smoke, trash, and other unidentifiable muck. I could hear a river flowing nearby, but the air was both chilly and thick with a heavy mist. A giant chimney stack pointed straight to the ground as I lay, upside down, smashed into the planter. My tails were draped haphazardly over my face.

_Ow._

I wriggled and got unsteadily to my feet, my head spinning crazily. _Eurrgh._ Where the hell was I?

One thing was for sure. I wasn't in London anymore.

I shook my head and sniffed, immediately regretting both. The smell was enough to make me wonder if this area had forgotten what indoor plumbing was. A sickly-looking squirrel eyed me from the garden wall, and I immediately felt terrible for it. Even the part of me that seemed to fancy a nice squirrel aperitif didn't want this one. I might get mouth rot from it.

This garden made the same sad attempt that my mother had, a landscaping experiment gone very wrong. It had looked like she'd tried to conjure the mystical hanging gardens of myth. Thinking of my mum, well, my original mum made me feel rather sullen. My parents had always been very supportive of me, and my mind always liked to ponder what they would think of me— assuming the image of me crashed haphazardly into some poor person's planter wouldn't have scared them off completely. They had been loving parents, and far more accepting than most might be with regards to finding their child suddenly being outed as a witch. My only comfort in their deaths is that the last time I had seen them they had been very happy and so proud of me. Both of them had tearfully told me so upon seeing me on my next holiday. They had died knowing I loved them, and, even in my grief, I knew they had loved me greatly.

My adopted family, officially Minerva, had expanded to include a number of "aunts and uncles" such as Alastor, Kingsley, and Amelia— and well, pretty much the entire Auror family as well. Then there was Severus— my mentor, my friend. He was so much more than just a friend. I could rely on him, trust him, but I knew that none of my "peers" would ever understand that. Despite his secrets, and I knew he had many of them, he had never once failed to look out for me, especially when it mattered the most. He, like Minerva, had become the rock I needed when everything else was crashing down around me. He had gathered up a frightened young girl who had lost her parents and distracted me with what he knew would never fail me: the overwhelming hunger for knowledge and the desire to achieve and prove myself to be so much more than what I appeared to be.

My three tails wagging lazily back and forth in the wind, I think I had achieved that and then some.

"To be wounded by something as pure as a unicorn, then healed, is a mark that touches the soul, Hermione," Firenze had once told me. "They will always recognise you as one of their trusted ones, but more importantly, their magic seeps into you, enhancing your inner spirit in so many ways. Humans used to harvest the horns, thinking that it was the horn they needed to purify, but that is not the whole truth. The magic is within the living unicorn, and only the living can bestow such purity of life."

Had the unicorn's mark affected my Animagus transformation? Had I become something… more?

What I really needed to do was get a good look at myself, and seeing as I was now in the most rundown garden I'd ever had the displeasure of seeing, I figured now was the time. Maybe there would be a nearby pond or a stream to look into. I snuffled about the garden, disturbing a rather sickly-looking family of mice and an even sicklier looking owl. Pickings were evidently pretty bad. Poor owl.

The owl landed almost right in front of me, snatching up one of the rather thin mice and swallowing it whole. I could almost hear the owl's stomach growling and the leaves themselves desiccating around me. When I found a calm pond just outside a crumbling wall, I noticed rather sad-looking weeping willow and a collection of ever sadder pussywillows that had seemingly dried and died with fuzzy catkins still clinging forgotten on the branches. The water was so foul-smelling that I could barely tell it from a pool of petrol. Even the shore was slick with brown foam and the distinctive slick of oil. Heaps of trash lined the shore and even the shallows, and the bones of an unfortunate duck lay in the dried muck, its foot and beak snared hopelessly in plastic rings.

It angered me to see such a place so utterly ruined, and my tails lashed in my annoyance.

"Look, Martin, a fox!" a young girl's voice said.

I spun around, all three tails floofed in instinctive alarm.

"He won't find nuthin 'ere to eat," the boy next to her said. "No one 'ere eats well. Not anymore— not since the mill shut down."

"Mummy said dey use to raise chickens in the yard. There used ta be geese 'n ducks in da pond," the little girl said. "I want to go swimming."

"The springs were blocked by the mill trash," the boy said. We can't swim in the pond no more. Ya know dat."

"It's not fair," the girl pouted. "We didna' put the trash here!"

"Little fox is gonna starve," the boy said. "Oi! Megan! Whatcha doing?"

"I don't want her to starve!" the little girl said, holding something out to me. "Come on. It's half of my cheese sarnie. It's not much, but it's better than you'll get around here."

"Megan, mum packed that for our lunch!"

"It's _my_ half of the cheese sarnie, Martin," she hissed. "I can do wut I wanna with it!" She held out the sarnie half insistently. "Come on. I won't 'urt ya!"

I approached slowly. I didn't want to rob the girl of her only cheese sandwich, but she clearly meant it for me. I snuffled it, and wrinkled my nose at the rather stale bread, but she looked at me with such desperation to see me fed, that I grasped the sarnie half in my mouth and sat down and began to eat it.

"Mummy makes da best cheese sarnies," the girl breamed, patting me on the head.

I froze, thinking she was going to bonk me a little hard, but she was gentle, soothing the fur between my ears with tender strokes.

"That's a wild fox, Megan!" Martin protested. "It could be rabid!"

To be fair, it was broad daylight and foxes were nocturnal by nature. He did have a point. To her favour, I wasn't rabid, at least, I didn't think I was. I was enjoying her stroking my ears with her tiny hands, and my rear legs were kicking as I flopped to my side and let her rub my belly too.

"Such a waste, Megan," Martin sulked, keeping his distance. "He'll die out here. There's no food, and ya can't keep feedin' him your sarnies."

"Can too," she pouted.

"Then, you'll starve," he said, putting his small hand on hers.

Megan frowned, drawing me into an almost choking hug.

_Hrkk! Can't breathe._

Megan seemed to realise she was inadvertently squeezing the life out of me and relaxed. "Nice foxy," she said, patting me gently.

She didn't seem to notice I had two tails too many. To test this hypothesis, I wriggled them all. My eyes widened as she pet them all.

"Nice foxy," she said. "You're so pretty, even with t'ree tails."

"Wut?" Martin said. He peered closely at me and shook his head. "Mum will be mad if she finds out you're making barmy stuff up again."

Megan scowled, scrunching up her little face. "I'm _not_ making it up. She's pretty, an' she's speshul."

Martin just rolled his eyes.

Okay, so Martin wasn't seeing my extra appendages. Megan, on the other hand, did. Perhaps, that meant she would be going to Hogwarts eventually. She, like me, would get a letter when she turned eleven, inviting her to attend Hogwarts— provided, of course, she lived to be that old in all this squalor.

She was rubbing my belly again, and I felt a warmth spreading from nose to tails. My tails vibrated back and forth rapidly.

_Zing._

_Fwhoosh._

_**THWANG!** _

An arc of pure magic zapped from tail-to-tail and then quickly arced over to the pond, hitting it squarely in the middle. Megan exclaimed in childish glee, clapping her hands happily, and Martin just stared as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

Hrm, tough crowd.

My tails had slowed down to an easy back and forth swish.

"Blimey, _look_ ," Martin suddenly gasped.

No, thank you. This belly rub was positively divine.

Megan picked me up and squished me against her, carrying me like a sack of disobedient flour. I'd had a few of those. My mother had always found it amusing how I ended up with more flour on me than in the flour bin.

Megan was holding me tightly, and her hand stopped rubbing. I found myself looking out over the nasty little pond. The water was rippling from the center outwards, changing colour from the grey-brown muddy-looking filth to the clear, crystalline bluish-green of healthy, clean water. I could see the bloom of aquatic plants shimmering under the water and various species of fish swimming about the newly-revived plants and algae-covered rocks. Reeds were now growing along the edges, and pond lilies were blooming and spreading across the now-growing lake. It wasn't a pond at _all_.

The willow tree on the tiny island in the middle of the lake swayed to and fro, its branches covered in fine, shimmering leaves. I saw tadpoles swimming in the shallows, munching on the new, healthy plant life. A wind was churning, kicking up the scent of fresh, clean water. The green of returning life was spreading like spilt milk across every yard, seeping into the adjoining gardens. Flowers were blooming, dead trees were bursting out with greenery and flowers, and even the planter I'd crashed into was now practically overflowing with strawberry plants, with plenty of tempting red berries, just begging to be picked.

Well then. It was a _really_ good belly rub.

Megan dropped me as she plucked huge, ripe gooseberries off the nearby bush. Ow.

"Martin, look!" she exclaimed. "Gooseberries!" She was stuffing them in her mouth as fast as she could. Martin, meanwhile, was staring at a row of tomato plants lined up in the garden. Before, they had been pitiful, half-dead specimens and now they were tall, bushy, and loaded with ripe tomatoes.

Bush beans, loaded with long beans in various colours, lined the garden rows. Large heads of cabbage, loaded bell pepper and aubergine plants, vines covered with cucumbers and squash, luffa gourds creeped up the restored, pristine white trellis, Corn silk swayed in the breeze off of thick stalks, multi-coloured stalks of Swiss chard, lines of turnip tops, potato plants, and even watermelons and pumpkins vined their way across the garden. As they walked around the back of the house in astonishment, Martin stared up at the long-dead apple tree that his father had decided to cut down next weekend, only to find it now strong, healthy, and positively loaded with huge, ripe apples. He grabbed one and bit into it, his mouth filled with crunchy white flesh and juicy deliciousness.

"Mum! Mummy!" Martin yelled, running towards the house with all due haste. "Come look!"

Megan had wandered over and spied the once-sickly oak tree at the edge of their yard. Her eyes widened as she saw it was now lush and full and covered in large acorns; she laughed when she saw one formerly scrawny squirrel absolutely going, well, nuts on them.

The mice were climbing the high grained grasses, stuffing their faces with the nutritious bounty before them.

I could hear loud muttering spreading throughout the subdivision as people were noticing the miraculous transformation of their once-pitiful landscape. Scores of ducks and geese were landing in the now-inviting waters, filling their beaks with plump insects and lush pond vegetation from the surface and the waters below.

Screams of delight and disbelief were spreading across the back gardens. Neighbours were excitedly chatting with neighbors. People were coming out of their houses to hug trees and each other. Children were streaming out to rush into and play in the now crystal clean water. People were hanging their laundry out to dry on pristine lines, no longer worried about staining their clean clothes in the filthy outside air.

Megan dropped me again, rushing towards the water with a squeal of pure delight. Suddenly, she stopped, turned around, and scampered back to me. She scooped me up, placed a sloppy kiss on my forehead, and put me back down. "Thank you, pretty foxy lady," she said. She took off towards the lake shore and splashed about with a gaggle of other giggling children who were doing exactly what she wanted to do.

_Tingle. Tingle. Fwoop._

I turned my head to stare at my still tingling posterior. Well, hello there, tail number four.

* * *

_**Value of Cokeworth Property Increases by Millions Overnight** _

_Land developers are all in a mad scramble to purchase the land in Cokeworth that has, quite literally, changed overnight. Residents woke up to find their gardens now green and flourishing, their nearby lake clean and flourishing, and wildlife returning after years of being considered the cesspool of England._

_Developers such as Green By the Lake, Inc. are paying exceedingly well for Cokeworth land in hopes of being able to demolish the older, outdated homes, and replace them with cottages filled with all of the modern conveniences._

_The areas affected were all within a mile of the old mill, which, when it was shut down decades ago, dumped hundreds of barrels of waste into the local water reservoir, and left a great many people unemployed and living in squalor._

_Residents in the now lush lakeside community stand to make a fortune on the land value alone, though how many people will want to give up their now idyllic lakeside property remains to be seen._

_As for what was responsible for this change, officials are saying that groundwork further in Cokeworth unclogged the springs that feed the lake, flushing the area with cleaner groundwater literally overnight. Questions about how the trees and other plant life also miraculously came back to life still remain unanswered._

" _I'm going to go back home, go to bed, and pray that my yard gets a makeover, too," Mr Addleberry told our reporters this morning._

* * *

_**Mysterious Outbreak of Nature Magic Hits Muggle Cokeworth** _

_The land has been revitalised in Cokeworth as of this morning, and the Ministry officials are totally gobsmacked. No one seems to be able to figure out what caused a more than two mile circle of land to be completely restored from festering rubbish heap to healthy, fertile land._

_A few practicing Druid circles have been questioned, but none of them were present in Cokeworth at the time of the spontaneous restoration. The possibility of a very strong localised burst of accidental magic has been investigated, but most experts discount the childhood accidental magic theory due to the radius of the land affected._

_Investigation into a possible boon from a number of nature deities from various cultures is being looked into, however, tracking down the origin of such an impressive display of benevolent magic will likely prove to be impossible._

" _Just call it a miracle and be done with it," former Cokeworth resident Martha Cunningham advised. "You don't look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. Cokeworth was rock bottom. Anything that makes that muck heap a better place is a good thing for everyone."_

* * *

The gathering throng of happy residents in the back gardens was getting a little too crowded for one three, er, four-tailed Kitsune, and so I found my way back to where I had started, with no little difficulty trying to pry my nose out of everything. Everything smelled absolutely fantastic, now, so I was having the exact opposite reaction of the one I'd experienced before. I was hardly an expert in multi-tailed magical foxes, but I was starting to put together a few rather suggestive trends. My magic, whatever it was, seemed to be tied to acts of kindness towards myself. A kind deed, such as a man offering me fresh eggs from his hens or a child offering me her half of a cheese sarnie seemed to be directly proportional to the strength of the magic I would then be capable of— and perhaps it also determined the nature of said magic.

From turning some ordinary chickens into a rare magical breed of poultry to restoring fertility and life to a sizeable patch of hell in the Midlands of England, my tails seemed to have a particular talent for getting themselves right into the thick of things. I had also stumbled into quite a bit of good fortune following my bit of very bad luck early this morning courtesy of one Sirius Black.

I sniffed the air and realised I could smell _him_.

Severus.

He was here, somewhere— oh! Well, now don't I feel sheepish?

The once-dead planter, which was now overflowing with ripe strawberries— I snatched a few and tore into them hungrily— was apparently right on the porch of my master. The air had been so foul that I hadn't even noticed my master's distinctive scent, an intoxicating combination of aromatic herbs, sandalwood, and musk. Hello, why didn't he smell _that_ intoxicating before? My nose was twitching. My tails were vibrating. I felt positively victorious. Finally, I would be somewhere safe with someone I trusted with my life.

I sniffed around the porch and found an old pet door that had seen better days. It wasn't the size for a dog to force their way in, but maybe a certain determined Kitsune could wriggle her way in.

_Only one way to find out, Hermione. Just don't get stuck. He would_ _**never** _ _let you live it down._

I concentrated hard, staring at the little flap door, determined to make myself _fiiiiiiiiiiiaagghhrgh!_

I found myself smashed into the wall on the other side, head on the floor, tails flopped over my face again. What the hell, body? I didn't even remember going through the door, but here I was, rolling tails-over-head, on the opposite side of where I had been. I scrambled to my feet, looking this way and that in case Severus had heard the commotion and started flinging spells.

Speaking of spells, how had I gotten past his wards? Did he have the same ones here as he had at Hogwarts? Possible. My head was still attached, so I was willing to chalk one up for my master's foresight. The inside looked— wow!

The entryway had a hardwood floor with an intricate inlay. Shoes were neatly in a rack by the door, and a pair of slippers were waiting on the stoop leading into the house. Ironically, there was a full-sized mirror hanging over a comfortable-looking leather sofa, and I remembered I'd really wanted to see what I looked like before the entire I-just-remade-your-subdivision incident.

I hopped up on the sofa and pressed my paws to the mirror, looking in.

Red and white face, black nose, black ears, black legs, and four rather smashing tails, if I didn't say so myself.

_Yip!_

I scrambled off the pristine sofa, and sniffed around. There was a cozy dining room just off a kitchen with an island and floating cabinetry. Stonewear lined the inside of the glass-fronted cabinets. A long planter with fresh cooking herbs overlooked the kitchen window and jars of various dried herbs and spices lined a rack by the stove— it was so _very_ Severus. Fresh fruit filled a wicker basket on the counter. There was even a miniature lemon and lime tree in a planter. Damn. My master really knew how to make a kitchen fantastic!

I continued exploring, nose first, taking a bit of excess glee when I discovered his extensive library. I resisted the temptation to investigate the books further, telling myself that could be done later. I found a bathroom with an old claw-footed tub that set my tails wagging. I trotted up the carpet-lined wooden stairs, enjoying the springy bounce as I bounded up them. There was another bathroom upstairs, and I had to fight the urge to tug down the extra-fluffy, Persil-scented towels. There were three bedrooms, much to my surprise, and I explored each one. Open windows brought in the now-fresh breeze from the outside. Each room was pristine and perfect, as if he had an entire battalion of house-elves to care for the house.

Finally, I came to the very last room in the house, and I stuck my nose between the cracked door, sniffing eagerly. Mmmmmm. My master was definitely in here. I shamelessly trotted in, taking a few moments to look around, as a part of me was screaming that I shouldn't be sticking my nose, paws, or multiple tails in my master's private bedchambers!

Wherever my shame had lost itself, I was far too relieved to have found him, and with that, safety. The sheer amount of relief I felt was far beyond measure. As I stared at my master, lying on his side and snoring softly, I saw a vacant spot under his arm that just screamed Kitsune-sized.

Well, who could turn down such a lovely invitation?

I scrambled up onto the bed, wriggled underneath his arm, and snuggled up next to him, curling into his body and scent like my own, personal hug.

I was safe. I was with my beloved master again. He would see that got home to Minerva, and maybe they could both get me out of this rather strange vulpine predicament.

I yawned widely, showing all of my teeth, and laid my head over my paws, closing my eyes and drifting off to a peaceful, dogless sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Plot bunnies. They are breeding like mad in the hutches, and I can't stop them! Sorry. Not sorry. Hope you enjoyed it, regardless. If you didn't, I'll sic The Dragon and the Rose on you.


	2. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

**A/N:** Sirius is not a nice person in this story/chapter. Be warned.

**A/N2:** I have a lot of homework this week, so the next chapter may be delayed.

**Trigger warning:** violence, torture, and the mindset of a very twisted and Dark individual

**Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01

* * *

**Nine Tails of Retribution**

**Chapter 2**

**Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie**

_I always divide people into two groups. Those who live by what they know to be a lie, and those who live by what they believe, falsely, to be the truth. -Christopher Hampton_

* * *

_**-Severus Snape-** _

For the first time in the history of my life, I woke in my bed at Spinner's End feeling fully rested and energised. The second thing I noticed was that the air coming in from the open window was unexpectedly fresh and clean. The third thing that became disturbingly obvious was that I had been drooling all over a small ball of fluffy copper-coloured fur.

I had left Grimmauld Place in quite a hurry, preferring not to be caught there and have various people accusing me of doing unspeakable things to Hermione. I also didn't want her to be accused of doing unspeakable things to _me_. My reputation amongst most of the Order was and had always been rubbish, but I didn't want Minerva's daughter getting caught up in it too.

I was in considerable pain at the time, but I was certain that I hadn't brought a small furry mammal along with me to Spinner's End.

Fairly certain.

Admittedly, I had Disapparated while somewhat delirious. I had once woken up with one of Lucius' peacocks, but that had involved Firewhisky and commiserating together.

Children were laughing and playing outside; I could hear them.

Now, I knew I was experiencing post-potion hangover reaction. Children did not laugh and play outside around Spinner's End. They could fall and get a flesh-eating infection.

I stirred, and my furry pillow-friend did too. A muzzle full of sharp little teeth greeted me. A cold, wet nose touched mine as I found myself face to muzzle with a fox.

"Hello?" I felt like a bloody moron, but what else do you say to a fox that shows up in your bed like you'd spent the last night drinking together and you never bothered to ask for her name?

The fox stared back at me intently with startling grey eyes.

"Have we met?"

The fox yipped.

"Did it involve alcohol?"

The fox wore a disdainful look that reminded me of— well, _me_.

I pulled back the duvet and searched for my slippers, swinging my feet down so I could feel around for them. I scratched myself idly, unsure of what to think.

The fox grew rather wide-eyed and fell off the bed with a sharp yip.

I stared, awkwardly, as it dragged over a pile of familiar black cloth: my robes.

I looked down, finding myself clad in nothing but a pair of dark emerald green acromantula silk boxers emblazoned with the Slytherin crest. Lucius had given them to me as a gag gift for Christmas. I wore them anyway. They were comfy. It wasn't like anyone was ever going to see them— except for a rather startled fox.

_Well, then._

As my feet touched my slippers, I put them on and froze as soft, plush lambswool greeted my feet. It felt wonderfully comfortable and cool to the touch, but I didn't _have_ lambswool slippers.

I stared, astonished, at my bedroom floor, and then I stared some more.

My beaten, creaky, flaking painted floor had been replaced by beautiful, shiny, polished hardwood. Walnut, no less, by the looks of it. As my eyes looked up and around, I felt like I had been out drinking all night with Lucius again. This room might as well have been one of Lucius' many guest rooms at Malfoy Manor. Matching dark walnut wardrobes and dressers lined the room instead of the shabby, charity shop furniture that had been there before. The ugly moth-eaten drapes had been replaced with a dark emerald velvet floor-length curtains with an ornate pleated swag draping across the top. The inside of the curtains had a second line of pale, wispy sheer that rustled gently in the soft summer breeze.

I looked down at my new black lambswool slippers. Feeling like the stereotypical idiot in a Muggle horror movie who never noticed the murderer hiding behind the scanty curtains, I turned around and looked at my bed.

Well, _that_ certainly explained why I had slept so well.

A king-sized four poster bed with a dark emerald duvet and bed curtains greeted my startled eyes. Below that peeked out dove grey silk sheets that perfectly matched the grey, emerald and ivory wallpaper. The bed draperies were thick and luxurious, and I felt as though I could sleep in the Arctic with the curtains closed and be perfectly comfortable. Silken silver cords held the drapes neatly in place.

I blinked.

Wait, I had _wallpaper_?

Forgetting about the fox for the moment, I burst out of the room, fully expecting to find myself in one of Lucius' guest houses— only to find myself still in my own house. Well, it sort of looked like my house might look, if I had somehow drunkenly hired a house-renovation crew with all the money I didn't even have.

I ran frantically from room to room, finding each room had been tastefully furnished precisely to my liking. All of the eyesore reminders of my father's drunken lack of taste had been replaced. My books were now in a library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases with solid wood and glass doors to protect all of my valuable books. I had an actual _**LIBRARY**_ , complete with rolling ladder. I had a state-of-the-art modern kitchen and I could see my own reflection in the marble tiled kitchen floor. I now had a dining room with an actual table, chairs and a hatch with… was that real Wedgwood china inside?. I even found a crystal chandelier, and it actually worked. There was a ceiling fan on just about every ceiling. I had plants— real, living plants— scattered throughout the house. My fireplace was now made of flawless dark brick that was absolutely clean— spotless. I had a wood rack— a real wood rack, for split logs and a matching box in which to store kindling. I had a handsome clock on the mantle that actually _worked_. And the thing that had me sitting down, frantically trying to fan myself, was the perfect hidden potions laboratory that could only be accessed via a secret passage behind a moveable bookcase. And it was stocked with every piece of equipment and every single potion ingredient, rare and otherwise, that I could possibly wish for.

I went outside my front door to check the number on the house. Three times in a row. After inspecting my new potions and vegetable gardens, and sampling various ripe fruits from the plentiful berry bushes growing along my back fence.

I flopped down on the couch, wincing in pain as my wounds reminded me that I had recently experienced the beating of my life, and if I could please stop forgetting about that minor fact, my body would truly appreciate it.

It was then, and only then, that my eyes drifted over to see the fox sitting in the nearby armchair, four distinctive tails swishing back and forth behind it.

A Kitsune.

And Hermione's beaded bag was dangling from around the fox's neck.

"Hermione?" I whispered, hearing my voice crack like I was a boy of twelve again.

"Yip!" The Kitsune leapt over and landed on the sofa before climbing into my lap and proceeding to lick my face enthusiastically.

_Argh. Kitsune slobber._

_**Wait, KITSUNE SLOBBER!** _

I frantically sat up, sending the startled four-tailed fox flying off the sofa, and summoned a vial to my hand with a wordless _Accio_. I pointed my wand at myself, lifting the precious fluid off my face and guiding it into the vial. I stoppered it, sealing it, and charming the vial to be shatterproof. I fell back on the sofa with a heavy sigh of relief.

Luminous grey eyes were staring reproachfully at me, and I realised I had just flung her clear across the room in my haste to collect the precious potions ingredient.

Gods, what do you say after thoughtlessly tossing your transfigured apprentice across a room like a bloody Quaffle?

"I think I owe you a proper breakfast," I said, foregoing the apology in words for an apology in food. Hopefully, I could still find the eggs and the flour.

Hermione, or at least the Kitsune I _thought_ was Hermione, took a tentative step closer.

"First food and tea," I told her, "then we can discuss why you were in my bed this morning and why my house looks like a luxurious guest cottage of Lucius Malfoy's."

"Yip!"

I frowned. "After I figure out how to reverse your transformation."

First things first. I summoned my Patronus and sent it off after Minerva with a straightforward "Come meet your daughter, the Kitsune. The least you could have done was teach the girl how to change back. Floo directly to Spinner's End, I'm opening the wards just for you."

"Blueberry or strawberry waffles?" I asked the fox.

"Yip!"

"Blueberry it is, then."

* * *

Minerva was staring at the little Kitsune gnawing hungrily at the pile of blueberry waffles in front of her.

"Hermione?"

The little fox froze, mid-chew. Her tails waved back and forth slowly.

I could see the gears in Minerva's head turning as she counted tails and assessed the health of her vulpine daughter. Minerva picked the little fox up, but Hermione didn't want to let go of her prized waffle, so Minerva ended up carrying both fox and waffle with her to the living room. The waffle was easily larger than her head, but the kitsune had her mouth tightly clamped onto it, giving me the impression of a dog that had just returned home from a city park after fetching a UFO instead of a frisbee.

Minerva fussed over the waffle hoarding Kitsune, tutting as Hermione did her best to make it disappear so it wouldn't get taken away from her. Either she was really hungry, or she really did adore my waffles. She told me she did, but it was Hermione. She also said she liked my nose, and that was usually what people like to say was sharp enough to cut glass.

After making sure all of Hermione was intact and uninjured, that she had two eyes and not three and a half, and extra set of legs, horns, or strange manifestations, Minerva seemed to think that she hadn't shifted wrong. She was a Kitsune for real.

"Have you tried shifting back, child?" Minerva asked, eyebrow raising as Hermione swallowed the last of her waffle, licking her chops as she did so.

"Yip!" Hermione replied.

"Bugger me if that means 'yes' or 'no'," Minerva sighed.

"She was thanking me for the waffle," I said dryly, slightly amused.

Minerva slumped. "Well, let's get you out of this mess, and then we can work on getting you to make the shift and back on your own."

Hermione licked Minerva's nose, causing the Animagus to sputter. Minerva put her down on the couch and drew out her wand. "Hold still, dear."

Hermione was scratching her ear with her hind foot, apparently far more interested in itching herself than in leaving.

" _Vera Forma_ ," Minerva said, and a flash of blue-white light zapped Hermione from the end of Minerva's wand.

As our eyes adjusted after the flash, we found ourselves staring at a bushy-haired girl with midnight blue-black tresses. Wide, piercing grey eyes looked from Minerva to me. Her cheekbones were a bit higher and more defined against her face. Her lips were thinner and her eyebrows a bit finer. The bag was still around her neck, and she looked down and let out a cry of embarrassment as she realised she had no trousers on. She grabbed for the nearby couch pillow and covered herself, flushing a deep rose colour.

"Hermione? Minerva asked tentatively.

"Mam?" Hermione squeaked, eyes darting about, obviously looking for something to cover herself with.

I grabbed a cashmere throw, which had apparently appeared with all of the other new house items, off the nearby chair and tossed it to her. She gratefully covered herself and stared wide-eyed back at us.

Minerva, however, was staring at the wide bruises on the girl's wrists, her torn blouse, and her rather impressive black eye.

If I wasn't sure it was Hermione— and I could feel it in my gut that she was— I would thought she had been replaced by some shamefully abused waif from the streets of London. Yet, as those grey eyes stared into mine, I knew— I _knew_ it was her, and I knew something terrible had happened to her.

Minerva enfolded the girl gently in her arms, seemingly coming to the same conclusion, and Hermione promptly burst into tears, sobbing into the elder witch's arms. Minerva held her tightly, her eyes focused on the crest of Clan McGonagall on the girl's back, right between her shoulder blades.

It _was_ Hermione. There was no doubt now.

"Child, what happened to ye?" Minerva asked, her Scottish brogue thickening in her worry.

Hermione just clung to Minerva tighter, saying nothing. Her eyes bored into me, and I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to read what she couldn't bring herself to say out loud right out of her head.

I knelt beside Minerva and held out my hand.

Hermione timidly placed her hand in mine, knowing that the physical contact would assist me in reading her clearer without the need of a wand. She met my gaze, giving me the window into her mind.

Hermione's mind was normally quite structured, partially due to my drilling her in Occlumency as well as Legilimency. One was quite logical— to keep her status with Minerva hidden from the manipulative old goat. The other was because she was capable and I wanted to see how long it would take her to break through my own shields. There was also a simmering part of myself that wanted to be able to know what people were thinking about her— what they were _really_ thinking. Legilimency was a rather odd balance of luck, skill, and the structure of the mind you were trying to skim through. You could, if properly skilled, eventually find whatever you wished to, or, in the case of one Dark Lord, find the best path to completely unhinge it. Even if she didn't have the grand skill of one meddling old wizard, she would still be able to pick up surface projections that were considered fair game without having to ask permission or have physical contact for.

When I slipped into her mind, all was in chaos. It was if a bomb had gone off inside her mind. Random memories were scattered everywhere and very few of them connected. It was no surprise that she couldn't form the words to tell us what happened. Her mind was having difficulty figuring out where to put it all. Something extremely traumatising had clearly happened— something that had shaken the normally warm and enthusiastic little bookworm into making an instinctive Animagus shift, caused her to seek me out, and caused a rather disturbing shift in appearance. The question, however, was _what_.

I saw her parents huddling around as they placed a pink birthday cake before her with two candles on it. I heard someone whisper "I have to keep you safe." I saw myself glowering over her like a territorial dragon, snarling as I verbally eviscerated her in front of her peers. I saw the tabloids— her parents listed among the dead in a freak train derailment. I saw Minerva as she offered to adopt Hermione— Moody, Amelia Bones, and myself all standing as witnesses to her adoption. I saw her terrified and crying in a girl's lavatory when the troll came in. I saw her setting my robes on fire. I saw her staring at her very feline face in the mirror after the polyjuice incident in her second year.

Image after image raced through my brain, and I set them aside, one by one, in order to seek what I really needed. I saw her huddled in the dark, listening as Sirius casually joked with Nymphadora Tonks, their distinctive voices heightened and loud. I saw Kreacher holding the door open to the outside, tying the beaded back around her neck, and telling her how to escape. I heard all the nasty little things Ronald Weasley laughed about with Harry, sending Hermione fleeing from them in tears. _Fear. Dog. Gnashing of teeth._ Tea and biscuits sitting on the table as she woke up, riding the bicycle for the first time, surrounded in little purple lintball chicks, being nearly hugged to death by a little girl—

Sirius Black forcing her down on the couch, his hands crushing her wrists, his knees forcing her legs apart— her screaming, writhing, fighting hard to free herself—

Crookshanks leaping at his face, the yowling, hissing, clawing.

There was a desperate run, and then he was on her again. Her trousers were torn away, he backhanded her, cracking her head hard against the floor— then a loud knocking on the door.

Then she was free, and running, diving in the blessed dark on all fours: as a young Kitsune.

I pulled away, my nails digging into my palms to snap me out of the almost blind rage that was clouding my vision with a haze of red. Then I saw her staring at me— in deep shame.

I swiftly opened my arms to her, and she clung to me in relief, sobbing again, this time as though it would never stop.

Minerva looked at me in horror, curiosity and a burning need to know what had so traumatised her daughter, and yet _not_ wanting to know at the same time.

"Get Moody here right now," I hissed, clutching Hermione to my chest, "and tell him to bring a Pensieve."

_Fwoop._

Suddenly, I had an arm full of Kitsune again. The little fox was trying to bury herself in my robes. I soothed her fur very gently with my hands.

She trembled against me, but settled, her tails wrapped around my wrists like a monkey's prehensile tail. I whispered her name into her soft fur and felt her cold nose press against the flesh of my neck.

Hermione— I held her close to me, promising myself that I would keep her safe and praying it wouldn't turn out to be a lie.

* * *

**-Alastor Moody-**

With Hermione being fox-sat by a team of seasoned Aurors in the main office of the Aurory, I glared at Nymphadora Tonks with what could only be described as draconic ire. Hermione was safe, being watched over by Savage and his team, none of whom had any trainees with them. Kingsley had all of the trainees dismissed for the day after he got wind of the situation.

Good old Kingsley. I could always trust him to handle things wisely.

At the moment, Amelia was arranging for Hermione to be registered as a new active Animagus, Minerva was with Severus filing away their memories in evidence vials and delivering the vials of Hermione's to Kingsley. Kingsley was writing a mound of paperwork, including all of which would bury Sirius Black when it was done, and I—

I was trying not to murder Nymphadora Tonks in cold blood in my interrogation room.

"Nymphadora," I said.

"Tonks, sir," she responded automatically— ever hateful of the first name she had been given.

"Nymph-a-dora," I replied. "Around here, we _earn_ the names we are called. We earn the right to be called Aurors. We earn the right to be called by our names of choice, or we earn the name we gain from doing something significant. Perhaps, you would prefer the name 'Snitch'?"

"Wha?" she stared at me, clearly not comprehending.

I slammed both of my hands down hard on the table in front of her, causing her hair to turn pure white before shifting back to the mousy brown of her natural colour— distinctly absent of her usual happy-go-lucky shade of pink.

"Do you think the Auror's oath does not apply to you because you are just a trainee here, Nymphadora?"

"No, sir!" she replied, aghast.

I narrowed my eye, feeling my magical one rapidly zinging from one side to the other. "Do you think you can handle cases as an Auror when you can't even keep your bloody trap shut around people who have no business knowing about anything you see going here?"

"S-sir, I would never endanger my work here!"

She looked completely mortified— oblivious to any wrongdoing.

"Tell me, trainee," I hissed, using her status as a lance. "Tell me what you thought was so insignificant that you would spill your guts about the wee lass out there, whose presence here has remained a secret to everyone outside the Auror's office. Tell me, Nymphadora, why you think it is okay to impose your judgement regarding her relationship with her master to Sirius Black, eh _ **?**_ "

"Do you know what the word confidential even means? Did you snore through the signing of your oaths? Do we have to bind you through an unbreakable vow to get you to keep your bloody mouth SHUT? What if we just happened to tell Bellatrix Lestrange where your own mother could be found? We know it. She's your closest blood relative. _**Wouldn't harm anything at all, WOULD IT?!"**_

Nymphadora's face went as pale as a the victim of a banshee. Her mouth worked silently. "I—I didn't—"

"You. Didn't. What?"

"Dumbledore told us we could trust him. I didn't _think—_ "

"You. Didn't. Think. I have sum bridge land to sell ya, lassie," I snarled. "If yer buyin'."

Hindsight, they say in the Muggle world, is 20/20. I saw the revelation creep into her eyes.

"Something happened to her?" she croaked, her eyes begging me that tell me that I was just being overly paranoid. She desperately wanted me to be as overzealous as I usually was.

She was fumbling with her robes, and she emptied her pockets on the desk. A locket on a broken chain and a dark, obsidian button sat on the top of the table. "I found these this morning. I figured— I'm not sure _what_ I figured, but I kept them. Sirius said she hadn't been there yet. He said he was entertaining a bird the evening before. Typical playboy stuff. He was so arrogant and at ease— oh, _Merlin_ — he was burning something in the fireplace while I was there. Right there in front of me. Said he'd buy the poor girl some new knickers—

Nymphadora was muttering a chain of things now, unable to stop the flow of thoughts. Her eyes were full of tears and panic. "Is she okay? Please, is Hermione okay?"

I wanted to tell her that no, she wasn't okay. I wanted to break her just a little bit more. I wanted her to writhe knowing that what she had done— breaking the confidence of the Auror's Office was no small thing. The truth was, Hermione was coping surprisingly well thanks to someone I'd never thought I'd ever respect: Severus Snape. I recognised something in him that I could identify with: sheer protective fury. I realised in that moment, as I had seen him holding the little fox with the multiple tails against him that Severus Snape was her safety zone just as much as Minerva, Amelia, or myself. Perhaps, he was even more, being her master.

I stared down at the locket on the desk, carefully opening it. A moving picture of Hermione, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter were making faces at a magical camera. I fingered the button, and the surface shone with a brilliant emerald serpent surrounding the personal sigil of one Severus Snape: and her apprenticeship mark.

And then I was seeing red all over again. I glowered at her. "I want every single memory you have of every event where Sirius Black was there and you were talking to him. I want all of it in sealed vials by the end of today. You are not to leave here until they are all submitted to Kingsley. As. He. Supervises."

Nymphadora paled even more.

"Get out of my sight," I growled. "And after all this is over, pray you have a good excuse for why you shouldn't be blackballed from any employment for the rest of your miserable life. _**NOW GET OUT!**_ "

She scrambled out of the room to escape my fury, tripping over the door frame as she went.

I stared at the broken locket and the apprenticeship button on the desk. Tonight was the Order meeting.

What was the saying?

Give a man enough rope, and he will hang himself with it.

I took the locket and button with me, storming out to the main office, hoping I didn't have to murder anyone on the way.

* * *

**-Hermione-**

I was getting the most outstanding bellyrub known to mortal man by none other than the infamously cranky Alastor Moody. That was all I really needed to know.

I was sprawled out on the top of his desk, looking like a dissection subject, my tails waving in all directions as the most primordial bliss overcame me. Every time he stopped rubbing, I would squirm a little closer, wedging myself back under his hand, and he would grunt, resuming the blessedly ecstatic rubbing I so desired.

So far, I had nicked Auror Savage's Italian beef sandwich, nipped a slice of Auror Proudfoot's cheese, and gotten Alastor to share half of his ginger beer with me. Kingsley had shared with me some special shortbread biscuits from an old family recipe, and I had sneakily hidden a few away in a few hidden caches I had spread all around the Auror office. You never know. I could be starving in a few hours. _STARVING!_

I'd spent quite a bit of time, unofficially, studying stealth and tracking techniques with the Aurors. They had always done their best to entertain me when I was visiting, and that had been teaching Hermione how to be a good Auror. They didn't really _say_ that as much as I had figured out what they were up to, but I enjoyed it. I was a excited to learn anything and everything.

Typical Auror training lasted at least three years, more if you were a slow learner or failed some essential lesson. Trainee Tonks was right on the cusp of her formal graduation, having reached her third year, but according to the chatter in the office, she was outstanding at concealment and disguise but hippogriff piss at stealth and tracking. She was apt enough to be partnered with Aurors Dawlish, Savage and Proudfoot from time to time, but when it came to being judged fit enough to be granted her independence, that only came from Moody and Kingsley. She might be an Auror as far as people on the outside were concerned, but she wouldn't become one for real until Moody and Kingsley agreed on it— and _then_ they had to take it to Scrimgeour.

Her failure to keep her mouth shut about me, however, had a lot of the senior Aurors now refusing to work with her. It was common knowledge that what happened in the Auror's office stayed there, and even I didn't talk about what I may have inadvertently heard while hanging out there. Then again, maybe I wasn't typical. Merlin knows that I had never had any interest in socialising with Hogwarts gossip queens Lavender and Pavarti and their equally gossipy circle friends.

It felt like I was losing IQ points whenever I tried, and Merlin knew I _tried_. I just never fit in. Maybe it was because I was Muggleborn, or maybe it was just something about me. Later, it was probably because I was spending too much time immersed in my adoptive family: Minerva, Alastor, Kingsley, Amelia, and Severus. That didn't even include the rest of my professors once all the students went home.

Harry and Ron figured I was now a ward of Hogwarts. They and the rest of the students did too. It happened, apparently, all too often in the first war, even though very few people ever talked about it. Unlike Harry, who had been orphaned as a baby, any children of Hogwarts age were considered old enough to make themselves useful around the school. Babies were often adopted out, but older kids were a toss up. Some were taken in by good friends or relatives, and a few ended up being fostered, since most of their time would be spent at Hogwarts anyway. There were others, which most people believed me to be, who had no home to go back to, so I was theoretically being fostered by Hogwarts. Hogwarts was, at least to the common consensus, the safest place in magical Britain to be.

A soft rustling distracted me from my belly rub, and I saw the plumpest, tastiest-looking bug that was just begging me to snap it up. I hopped to my feet, immediately tearing off after it. I launched myself of Savage's lap, sliding across his desk, knocking over his desk lamp, leaping into the air—

_SNAP!_

My teeth clacked on empty air, and the bug buzzed loudly, brushing against my whiskers as it desperately attempted to keep dodging me. I was not going to to let my snack go! I quickly spun around and leaped again, using the nearby desk to propel me up high.

_SNAP!_

Damn. This bug was determined not to line my belly, and I was getting really hungry. I was burning off all the calories from that tasty sandwich I had snitched earlier, and that slice of cheese I had nicked was already done and gone. I was not going to let that little package of calories escape me now!

My surroundings faded around me, and all I could see and smell was lunch— moving lunch, lunch that would be mine!

_SNAP!_

I snagged a leg, and I crushed it between my teeth, moving to—

_GAH!_ It wrenched itself free and tumbled in the air towards Moody's desk. I tore after it, again. It was wobbling crazily as it flew, and I was even more determined. I gave a loud bark as I launched off another chair, my mouth open to catch that bug that would be my lunch!

_SNAP!_

" _ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Get this rabid beast off me!"**_ a woman shrieked.

Somehow, and I'm not sure how, I had ended up wrapping my mouth around someone's leg, my teeth sunk deep in the calf of—

"Well, well, well, who do you have here?" Savage asked, wrapping his arms around me and prying me off the unfortunate victim of my sharp fox teeth.

"Rita Skeeter," Proudfoot glowered from his nearby desk. "In the private sector of the Auror's office, no less."

"That little beast was trying to kill me!" Rita screeched hysterically. "I want it dealt with immediately!"

Savage had somehow found himself a smoked turkey leg, and he held it out for me. Oh yes, _please_!

I wrapped my mouth around the savoury prize. Mmm, bliss. If this was being dealt with, I was all in!

Moody, who staring down at Rita as she clung like a burr to his leather coat, curled his lip in clear distaste. "I'm having a really bad day and am in no mood for your antics, Skeeter. You are now under arrest for breaking into a restricted area of the Auror's office."

"What? No! I was— invited!"

"By whom?" Moody wasn't buying it, and neither were the others. Aurors from all the surrounding desks were surrounding them. "Anyone here invite this shameless scandalmonger to our office?"

Many, many heads shook in vehement negative.

"Tonks! Auror Tonks invited me!" Skeeter blurted out nervously.

Angry faces spread across the entire office, but I was having the time of my life chewing on this delectable smoked turkey leg. Why didn't someone warn me how wonderful these things were? My tails were vibrating again, and my body was filled with feelings of warmth and pleasure from my tasty reward.

_Kerzap!_

Oops? Did I zap something? I didn't even notice. Mmm, turkey.

"That's your story?" Moody grunted disbelievingly. "A trainee who barely has her training wheels off invited you into a restricted area?"

"Yes!" Rita blurted, her face turning suddenly blue. "I like to sleep naked under the full moon and bathe in elf-made gooseberry wine to keep my complexion flawless."

I paused in my mauling of the turkey leg. Okay, now things were getting pretty interesting.

Moody, who was hardly the person to miss anything, seemed to get a glint in his eye. "Are you an unregistered Animagus?"

"No!" Rita said. "I wrote nasty things about Hermione Granger because I was jealous of her being with Viktor Krum. He refused my advances and called me a _grozna kurva_!"

Savage, who hadn't stopped petting me the entire time (not that I was complaining), asked, "What is your real name?"

"Rita Skeeter!" she said. "I changed my name from Gertrude Bumworthy after I broke up with Cornelius Fudge. That was after I caught him having sex with Dolores Umbridge on his desk."

Multiple groans and sounds of gagging rippled through the office. I think I even heard a few people hurling into the rubbish bins.

Rita— Gertrude— whoever she was— was looking around with a rather panicked expression.

"What happened to the real Rita Skeeter?" Proudfoot asked.

"I _am_ Rita!" she blurted, but as sure as the sun kept rising, she just had to say something else. "The little tramp was trying to spy on us, so the Dark Lord had me deal with her and take over her identity. I keep her locked in a cellar in Ottery St Catchpole. I harvest her hair for polyjuice, and I drained all of her memories, taking them for my own. There's literally nothing left upstairs." She started laughing hysterically.

"Someone slip her a dose of Veritaserum?" one of the Aurors asked curiously.

"Something better," Moody replied with a rather predatory grin on his face. "Truth compulsion geas, thanks to some rather chaotic Kitsune magic."

"I need to take her home with me, Alastor," another Auror said. "I have children that need a dose of that."

Moody snorted. "Sanchez, Stonehew, get out there to Ottery St Catchpole and find the real Rita Skeeter. Muddlefort, Cambridge, you tear apart Rita's... hell, Gertrude's residence and see what else she might be hiding. Keep in contact with each other in case you find anything." Moody already had magical bindings on Rita-Gertrude, and as people kept asking her questions, she kept spewing random truths that no one really wanted to hear. The more she tried to lie, the more she told the truth, and it was starting to look like the truth was all she could say as time went on.

"Umbridge is planning to send her pet Dementors after Harry Potter!" Rita crowed in a childish sing-song voice creepily reminiscent of the mad Bellatrix Lestrange, causing not a few Aurors to suppress a shudder of total revulsion.

Were _all_ witches that associated with Voldemort that creepy?

"There's going to be a breakout of Azkaban! All the Dark Lord's chosen shall be freed!" she cackled, the signs of her mind being completely unencumbered by any kind of filter becoming all too obvious.

"Get yer hands off me, half-blood scum," a male voice bellowed loudly as an Auror walked in a prisoner to be booked and put in holding. They forced the wizard into one of the chairs.

"Sit down and shut up, Berkley," Auror Stevens said with clear disgust. I and my stomach wondered if had any of those little jerky snacks he liked to carry around in his pocket. Oh, I still had more turkey to eat. Mmm, turkey.

I laid down on Savage's desk and nommed away on the turkey leg, quietly watching the drama unfold. Who says Kitsune can't multi-task? Psh.

Berkley scowled, his eyes flicking over to Rita-Gertrude. He turned his head away almost too quickly.

"Name?" Stevens asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Steven Shove-it-up-your-arse," Berkley muttered.

"That how it's going to be then?" Stevens sighed, quilling away.

"I murdered two Muggle kids in front of their mothers down in Westminster," Berkley grunted. "I framed some homeless wretch by forcing him to turn himself in and confess all the gory details. The Dark Lord let me have my pick of the whores that night."

Stevens and the other Aurors immediately snapped their heads up to stare at him.

"What were you doing down there in Islington tonight?" Stevens asked.

"Go blow yerself," Berkley replied.

Stevens narrowed his eyes in annoyance and went back to filling out the paperwork.

"We're all meeting after hours at the Witch's Tit in Knockturn Alley before going out to Muggle London for a nice spot of Muggle-hunting," Berkley commented, scratching himself idly. He didn't seem to even realise what he had blurted in front of an entire roomful of Aurors.

Berkley snorted. "You think Tarrington over there is one of yours? Hah. I'll be out of here the moment you think I'm safely locked up in that bloody cell. He's Marked just like the rest of us. Marked like me. Marked like _HER_ ," he said, jutting his chin at Rita-Gertrude.

Stevens looked up and stared at Moody, mouthing, _What the hell is going on here?_

Moody stood up from his desk. "How many prisoners do we have in holding right now?"

"Fifteen not counting those two," Savage replied, rubbing my ears gently. _Oh, thank you, right there… ahhh. I love you._

Moody's craggy face broke into a rather sly smile. "Let's put these two in holding and see what happens. Maybe ask all those questions we couldn't get answered before, ay?"

Before I knew it, I was being carried under one arm, my coveted turkey leg clenched tightly between my teeth, as Auror Savage had his notebook in the other hand. My tails were dangling back and forth as he walked me to his destination.

"Oi, Savage," one of the other Aurors called out. "When do _I_ get to spoil 'er?"

"When I'm done," Savage yelled back with a grin.

"Not fair, mate, not fair," came the reply.

I wasn't complaining at all. This was the most excitement I'd had in weeks, and all my worries seemed to fade away in favour of watching this new drama unfold.

Don't mind me. I'll just dangle here, eat my turkey leg, and watch all of these prisoners unknowingly burying themselves in the truth.

_Mmm, turkey._

* * *

_**Record Number of Arrests and Convictions Flood Azkaban** _

_A record number of new arrests and convictions have Ministry officials considering expanding Azkaban. Over fifty recent arrests went in front of the Wizengamot earlier today, and none of them were contested._

_Why?_

_Every single arrestee confessed to a multitude of crimes, seemingly unable to tell a lie._

" _Never seen something like this without Veritaserum," Wizengamot member, Gladys Rothschild, stated after the chain of convictions. "Every single crime was confirmed. They told us exactly what they did. It's like a dream come true for law enforcement."_

_One case, which has the Wizengamot abuzz with shock, was the arrest of Gertrude Bumworthy, who confessed to holding Rita Skeeter in a cellar in Ottery St Catchpole for the last 27 years. Bumworthy, who confessed to being both a Death Eater and unregistered beetle Animagus, detailed how she had captured the real Rita Skeeter some years ago, kept her alive for Polyjuice purposes, and then proceeded to use her identity to spy on everyone from Ministry officials, local heroes, and even minor students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The real Rita Skeeter, who was found by Aurors in a catatonic state, was quickly whisked away to St Mungo's for treatment. Healers assigned to the case, while unable to comment, wore pale and sombre expressions when asked about Ms Skeeter's prognosis._

_While the DMLE is not making an official statement at this time, Head Auror Gawain Robards, was seen by his fellows, "cracking his first smile in months."_

* * *

_**-Crookshanks-** _

Crookshanks stretched out, sprawling in a sunbeam, happily absorbing the sun's rays as if he was a solar-powered feline. He licked the remnants of fresh tuna off his muzzle and yawned. The balcony he was laying on was just right for him to overlook the garden, and while the garden was terribly neglected, tjat really didn't bother him at all.

Crooks flicked his tail a few times and batted at a leaf that fluttered down from a tall oak tree, feeling a little more playful now that his bruises were fading. His attack on the "master" of the house had worked as he intended: to give his mistress an opening to escape. It hadn't gone perfectly, but it had bought her a few extra, essential seconds. It wasn't that he hadn't been willing to throw himself at the rabid man-dog, but Crooks had long known that their partnership towards the goal of getting rid of Wormtail had come to an end.

Before, the mutt had been weakened and desperate, underfed, and definitely not drinking alcohol. Now, however, the man, if one could even call him a man, now had certain things that brought the traits that had made him so much more dangerous: boredom, alcohol, and an inflated sense of self-worth.

The house was doing its level best to deny the man-dog access to everything that it could, making his life miserable and screaming at him via the portraits, but for Crookshanks, he might as well have been the king feline. Fresh tuna, access to plenty of plump mice, warm sunbeams, and fresh air? He was a very happy half-Kneazle. Now, the house was providing everything he needed in order to stay twenty steps ahead of the dog: secret passages, hidden footpaths, and winding trails leading to nowhere. Oh, the dog had tried hard indeed to find him. He'd even gone on all fours while trying to tear the house apart for his mistress, but the house had foiled him, filling the house with the powerful scent of pine cleanser, and alternatively filling his nose with allergy-inducing dust and mouldy reek from the innermost recesses of the house. It had even filled a cupboard full of whoopie cushions that farted directly in his face when he opened the door.

The Noble and most Ancient House of Black was not so unlike Hogwarts, and it was even more so now that his mistress had come into her power— awakening into a heritage that had been lurking under the surface since the day she was born. Crooks had known all along, since the day he'd first set eyes on her. He hadn't been waiting so long at that store for nothing. He'd been waiting for someone just like _her_.

Crooks eyed the plump sparrow sitting on the balcony ledge, bossing the other sparrows around because of his size and black bib. He wasn't hungry as much as interested, but that was enough for him. He hunkered down, tip of his tail twitching as prepared to spring.

" _ **FUCK!"**_ a voice rang out from a floor below.

A crashing noise scared the fat sparrow away, causing Crooks to sit up and groom himself. What was that canine moron getting into now?

He jumped up onto the long-forgotten bed, stretched, and hopped up onto the headboard. Wedging his head under the portrait above, he slipped into the hidden passage. Crooks loved old houses such as this. There were always secret places to roam in, usually used by house-elves to get around when they didn't want to pop in and out and thus alert their families of their comings and goings. As it turned out, they were a great boon for cats, too.

Crooks poked his head out from behind one of the portraits, slipping out onto the carpet. The man-dog was throwing stuff around downstairs, cursing up a storm.

" _ **Kreacher!"**_ he screamed. " _ **Clean up this mess!"**_

"Yes, master," came the sullen reply, dripping with malice. "Kreacher always honoured to serve the noble house of Black."

Kreacher swept up the mess as the black-haired menace proceeded to trash another room.

" _ **Where the FUCK is she?"**_ he bellowed.

Crooks wiggled his whiskers. He was a noisy one. He had a name; Crookshanks knew many names, but this one had been reduced to being dubbed the man-dog. That was what he was. He didn't rate a name any more than the red-headed menace. There was Harry, and he was tolerable enough. Neville was timid, but he wasn't rude. Then there was Hagrid, who always had plenty of plump mice to hunt in his domicile. There was Kreacher, the bringer of fabulous tuna, and there was Walburga— who always seemed to keep an eye out for him and his mistress via the extensive Black portrait system. Back at Hogwarts, there was always Poppy, who always liked to have him around as the local therapy Kneazle, Pomona, who said felines made the plants happy, Filius, who seemed to understand that closed doors attracted cats more than open ones, Septima, who always had a stash of tasty cat treats for him hidden in the drawer of her desk, and Argus, who seemed to get along far better with cats than he did with people.

Minerva, as far as Crooks was concerned, was the ultimate momma cat. He could no more disrespect her than he could his own mother, and she had no problem swatting him across the nose if he got into her business without her express permission. It was okay. He preferred it. She was the only one that could speak fluent feline on his own terms. There was also Severus, who couldn't really speak cat in the slightest, but he kept to himself usually, took excellent care of his mistress and made her feel safe, and ultimately made a great place to find an empty lap that wasn't going to complain about a liberal coating of ginger fur. It was so very frustrating when you found a nice comfy lap to sprawl on only get to shoved off. The _nerve_. Psh.

Mrs Norris, on the other hand, whose real name was Daisy Belle, had anyone bothered to ask her, was a cat that seemed to be stuck between being terminally annoyed and strangely tolerant. Maybe, Crooks thought, she was dropped on her head as a kitten. Crooks wasn't sure. Sometimes kittens came out... wrong. She would sidle up to him, purring and practically shoving her rump into his face one day, and then try to tear his face off the next. Crooks called that personality Mrs Norris. He referred to the happy cat side as Daisy Belle. He far preferred Daisy Belle.

Daisy Belle had been taken as a kitten from a little girl somewhere in Devon and cast into the river with the rest of her littermates. Somehow, Argus had found her— the sole kitten that survived. She obviously loved Argus for that, but Crooks couldn't help but think that she had bonded to that little girl, and being without her had made her into a bit of a neurotic older cat— torn between the love lost and the love found. Crooks had been pretty lucky. He had spent his entire life in the pet store, waiting for just the right person to fall into his range.

Most people didn't think animals had their own minds and own thoughts, but the smart ones did. Children seemed to know it instinctively, but they grew out of it, usually. His mistress had always treated him right, and he had accepted the name 'Crookshanks' as one name of many names. It was far better than 'Fluffy'. He absolutely loathed that name. He even felt sorry for the three-headed mutt who was unfortunate enough to bear that name. Poor guy. How was a guard dog supposed to be respectable with a name like— _Fluffy_? No wonder the dog had such a complex. Crooks would need lullabies and music to sleep too with a dreadful name like that.

Man-dog was getting steadily more frustrated, if such a thing were even possible. He'd broken a nice vase, impaled a portrait of his great uncle, and almost set himself on fire kicking the logs in the fireplace. It was _so_ like a dog. Dogs ended up following their noses straight into the porcupine's butt only to then wonder why his face was full of painful quills. Idiots.

To be fair, not all canines were such imbeciles, and not all felines were worth their whiskers, but man-dog had lost any sense of canine respectability when he'd fallen back into the ways that landed him in Azkaban in the first place.

Even felines knew about Azkaban. There was a family of cats living large on the rodents and birds there. Mrs Peach and Mr Socks raised a new litter of kittens there every year— reputedly the best mousers in all of Britain. All of their kittens found respectable homes due to their exemplar skill in the fine art of rodent control. Crooks had met a few of them while patrolling Hogwarts. Some had become familiars for the children and did their sworn duty to devour all things rodent. Crooks could only heartily approve.

Man-dog obviously needed a little help getting his mind off of things. If he didn't, the house would bury him long before the next meeting. That would be such an anti-climatic end. That just wouldn't do. So Crooks reached out a paw and batted the heavy urn off the fireplace.

_**CONK.** _

_**Thud.** _

Oops, well, at least he wouldn't be yelling anymore.

Just to make sure man-dog didn't feel completely unloved, Crooks filled his gaping mouth with catnip mice. Then he coughed up a nice, large furball onto his forehead and trotted up the stairs, slipping back under the portrait and into the safety beyond.

* * *

"No, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said with a lopsided grin, "this is definitely Hermione's real appearance. I'm thinking whatever triggered her stress transformation into her Animagus form somehow did something to dispel a very elaborate glamour."

"A _glamour_?" my mam gasped, "but she's a Muggleborn. For what purpose would someone glamour her?"

I knew my mam didn't give a flying fig about my being Muggleborn, but she _did_ have a rather good point. Why glamour a Muggleborn baby?

I had finally figured out how to ease myself into the more expected human-form, and realised the reason I hadn't been able to easily fall back into my human form before was because I was trying to will myself back into someone who wasn't really _me_.

My hair was still very curly, perhaps even a little bit bushy, but not nearly as much as it once was. It was silken and shiny and a black of the midnight sky tinged with the darkest of blues. My eyebrows had become thinner; my lips had formed into a finer line, and my skin— merciful Merlin, I looked like a porcelain doll. My eyes were the deep blue-grey of steel.

I'd often wondered what it would be like having different looks— not looking so buck-toothed, bushy-haired, and utterly plain. I had not, however, ever imagined what I had somehow become, or, if what Poppy was saying was true, really was all along.

_Fwoop._

And I was a Kitsune again. This seemed to be my default form thanks to a certain detestable member of the Black family. Strong emotions tended to bring it on, and only serious concentration could shift me back into a more human one. Minerva seemed to be perfectly happy as long as I was uninjured, and after Poppy had treated my bruises and recorded the details of every single one for the DMLE, I was content to follow Minerva around like her familiar, trading off for Severus or Alastor or Amelia depending on the situation.

Today, however, was my day with Minerva, and Minerva was everything you'd expect a right mam to be: protective, encouraging ready to go slice up a dog and send him to a certain foreign country whose people still _eat_ dogs… I had to feel very proud to be her daughter. She was not, nor did I ever think she would be, a 'sit-on-your-laurels' kind of witch.

The really nice thing about Minerva being an Animagus, well one of many, was that tabby cats and Kitsune seemed to be truly made for each other. We were both much smaller than a large dog, liked the nighttime, and adored chasing after random bugs and rodents. My bug-catching activities had won me not only turkey legs, but I managed to get my own honorary Kitsune bed right on top of Savage's desk. This also meant access to all-you-can-eat turkey legs. I wasn't complaining, and my stomach was definitely not complaining.

Auror Proudfoot wondered where I packed all of that food away, but Moody seemed to think I converted that food into magical mayhem— or the potential for magical mayhem. After a really good belly rub, my magic would gather in my body, my tails would vibrate, and _**ZAP!**_ Something would always happen. Belly rubs seemed to cause beneficial magic, or at least, beneficial for whoever gave me the rub. It didn't work out quite so well for the Death Eaters. The Aurors took turns moving my bed around at the office, hoping that they would get a ringside seat to whatever misfortune I might inflict upon the next round of prisoners.

So far, at least, nothing happened. Okay, I lied. I _did_ accidentally cause a neverending box of donuts to show up in the middle of the conference room and a fountain of perfectly-brewed tea and coffee to appear in the break room. Auror Desmond wanted to have a go at rubbing my belly to see if he could get a toasted sandwich, but Savage snatched me and my bed up, carrying me back to the main office. A full hog roast showed up a few minutes later, smack in the middle of Head Auror Gawain Robards' office. He had more people show up to visit him that night than he had all year, not that he was complaining. He was on cloud nine after the Death Eaters just up and confessed to their crimes in front of the Wizengamot without batting an eyelash.

Auror Scrimgeour wasn't quite sure what to make of me, though. He sort of looked like a lion, and I think he was evaluating me like a lion. He had been told who I was, so it wasn't like I had been picked up out of a crate of random contraband, but I rather think I boggled him. Most of the Aurors would pick me up and carry me around just because they knew I liked it so much. It was fun, and I got to see all kinds of new places. Who wouldn't want to see the inside of the Ministry? Bonus was I got to travel with my own personal Auror wherever I went, and no one was ever going to mess with me. I liked that.

Scrimgeour was a puzzlement. He never fed me, never asked anything of me, and never once pet me. My tails usually got even the most hardened person in the Ministry to pet me— even Mrs Stern-face (no, that wasn't her real name) up in Accounting. She made the most fantastic lemon cake, I'll have you know. It was glorious. I had no idea what her real name was, but she had great cake and kind hands.

He didn't have an evil vibe, or even a roll of the kind of magical power that intimidated me. I just didn't know what to make of him. Maybe he thought having a Hogwarts-aged witch roaming around the Aurors Office was a bad idea? Most people though I had earned my stripes by exposing Rita-Gertrude. Yup, that was what I was calling her forever. I had known her as Rita Skeeter for the majority of my life, and I just couldn't think of her as— Gertrude. I definitely didn't want to call _anyone_ Bumworthy. I had to draw the line somewhere. Merlin only knew how many Fartworthy jokes I had heard just being around the boys in the Gryffindor common room.

Woop! I was being picked up again. I went limp in Poppy's arms, allowing her to look me over and make sure there was nothing broken. I had to lick her nose because, well, it was right there just begging me to. I squirmed a little when she felt me over, and she smiled at me as she opened my muzzle and checked my teeth. I did enjoy the attention, I will admit. Poppy was so kind, and her hands were always so warm and compassionate.

_Zing!_

_Uh oh. What did my tails do now?_

I looked around, hoping I hadn't just buried everything in sopping piles of seaweed or filled the rafters with incontinent pigeons. No, no pigeons. Phew. Everything seemed to be in order.

Then, Poppy opened the privacy screen and promptly passed out into my mam's arms.

Fanning the poor mediwitch frantically, my poor mam wasn't quite sure what to do, so she settled on dragging her over to a chair, summoning a pitcher of cool water and a glass, and opening the nearby window to bring in a breeze. Me? I was busy exploring. Suddenly, the hospital wing had gotten a thousand times more interesting!

The infirmary had expanded dramatically, and there were expansive sections set aside for various purposes. There were beds, but instead of privacy curtains, there were actual rooms to give patients a true sense of privacy. New windows opened outwards to let in fresh air, beds were on wheels in case people had to be moved quickly, and each room had a cabinet for clothes and personal items, a small shelf stocked with books for all ages and a few games, as well as a rolling desk that could be pulled over the bed to do various activities if you happened to be stuck in there for a while. There was a trauma area set up for emergencies apart from the private rooms, a central area like a Muggle nurse's station where Poppy and her fellows could look out and see all the rooms and beds, a climate-controlled room for all the potions and medications, and another area that looked like it was designed for quarantine and intensive care. Every bed had a magical board that detailed patient data at the head. I wasn't a mediwitch, but I was pretty sure by the excited chatter from the other medi-witches that something truly wonderful had just happened.

By the time I made my way back to my mam and Madam Pomfrey, the elder mediwitch was talking to Minerva with a huge smile on her face, her arms flailing around excitedly.

"Hogwarts must have wanted it," Minerva was assuring her. "The school allowed it to happen."

There was an actual honest-to-goodness reception desk and waiting area for people to lounge while waiting to visit people, and Poppy was going around patting everything as if to confirm she wasn't caught up in a vivid hallucination.

"Minerva!" she cried. "Do you realise how long we've tried to get all of this approved by Dumbledore?"

My mam snorted. "If it was anything like trying to get approval for the Potions classrooms to be expanded out of the dungeons in order to have proper ventilation windows, I can imagine a _very_ long time."

Hrm, now there was something Severus had complained about pretty frequently. He always kept very meticulous spells in the classrooms to ventilate them properly and keep the potions ingredients from spoiling due to the typically high level humidity. It was the dungeons, for Merlin's sake. Dungeons were just not designed for that sort of thing. Dumbledore, and however many Hogwarts headmasters had come before him, apparently didn't agree, or perhaps they figured since it hadn't blown up yet, everything was okay and nothing bad would ever happen. Right.

I plunked myself down in front of a mirror. Hrm, I seemed to be bleaching out. My once reddish-brown and coppery radiance had started to shift into a silvery white. The tips of my tails were as bright as the full moon, crackling with this a good thing or a bad thing? I wasn't quite sure.

I felt good, really good, so I don't think it was a _bad_ thing.

_Yoink!_

I was being cuddled.

"You blessed, blessed little creature," Poppy mumbled tearfully into my fur. "What a wonder you are."

A jubilant warmth filled my body.

_Yip!_

_Ploof!_

_Oh, well hello there, tail number five._

* * *

The original Order Meeting had been postponed by none other than Dumbledore, but the next one was unfortunately here, or would be, tonight. That meant going back to Grimmauld Place, and I wasn't overly keen on that for some reason. I can't even imagine why.

Alastor and Kingsley had decided to keep the entire situation with Sirius Black under wraps until they could see how he reacted at the meeting. There were many people who believed that Sirius Black was innocent of the crimes he had been imprisoned for, and that very well could have been true, but the crime they were most concerned about was the most recent one. Both of them reasoned, and Severus and Minerva agreed, that there would be a lot of disbelief and outright refusal to believe, no matter what. One of those people could very well be Harry Potter: the boy who had the most to lose. I didn't even need to be said that Dumbledore believed in Sirius, so that tended to garner quite a bit of faith.

Even I had to admit that had it not happened to me, I would have trusted Dumbledore's judgement. He was _the_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. How could you not? Even knowing that people are flawed creatures, there were people, and there was Dumbledore.

Part of me knew that Severus hadn't been training me in Occlumency for fun. It was fun for me, but you didn't train someone to shield their mind just for fun. Later, I had begun to realise that he had done it to keep the private details of my adoption safe, but now— now I was beginning to think that Severus had been protecting me all along by protecting my mind from everyone. If I chose to tell someone my affairs, it would be my choice, but someone couldn't just find out my business because I had my mind open, inviting random passersby to browse it like a bestseller at the bookstore.

Dumbledore had a reputation of knowing what you were thinking, and most people just believed he was very good at reading people. I was starting to believe that the type of reading he was doing was actually Legilimency. It made sense for people to trust Dumbledore, because Dumbledore had this eerie way of knowing people's thoughts. If that was Legilimency, then what if be was being misdirected? What if I did to Sirius Black what Severus had taught me to do: shield my mind and give him juicy, highly plausible substitutions?

Alastor and Kingsley decided that the best place for me to be was right where everyone knew I was safe: in Severus' pocket. Literally.

After a few interesting charms, the inside of Severus' robe became my den away from home, and it smelled just like Severus, which was doubly safe in my book. After a few adjustments so my multiple tails weren't sticking out of said pocket, I made myself right at home, settling in so I wasn't a squirmy tenant. Every so often I'd stick my nose out and sniff, unable to resist my natural curiosity, and Severus' hand would gently press me back into said pocket. Moody dropped in a few lemon shortbread biscuits, and then I was all set. I curled up into a ball inside, hoarding my biscuits like a dragon on a pile of treasure, and realised I didn't feel bad at all. Considering where I would be going, that was a pretty impressive thing.

Hearing things from the outside while curled up in a pocket might seem a little strange to most, but it was a lot like going to sleep in the room next to your parents. Unless they were whispering, you could hear everything just fine. Insert super-sensitive Kitsune ears, and, well, I could hear everything. At least I didn't have to worry about someone running up to Severus and giving him a big hug and squishing me. Now that would have been an interesting sight to see.

Moody had decided to give Nymphadora one last chance at saving both her reputation and her arse from the chopping block, and to her credit, she seemed to be well and truly determined to make up for her mistakes. Again, a lot of it was due to Dumbledore's reputation of omniscience and allegedly infallible judgement, and even Moody realised that trying to fight that was like standing upright in a typhoon and trying not to fall over.

Understandably, most of the meeting was very boring. Business, business, and more business. I could hear Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Ginny arguing in whispers on the other side of the wall. They were fighting over something and telling Crookshanks to leave them alone. At least Crooks was okay. That gave me no small amount of comfort.

Hagrid was being sent off to parlay with the giants, and he didn't seem all that enthused with his new assignment.

"They're a right horrible lot," Hagrid's voice muttered darkly. "I should know. Me own mother was not a great mum."

Someone named Dolores Umbridge was coming to Hogwarts for the next term, and the scent of serious displeasure literally wafted into my pocket domain. Whoever she was, I didn't like her already. There was an avid argument over how she was able to remain in position when the Death Eater Rita-Gertrude had pointed her finger of accusation at her and the her using Dementors to go after Harry. I'll confess to falling asleep during that.

Remus Lupin was being pressured by Dumbledore to parlay with the werewolves as Hagrid was to the giants— the idea being that if fewer werewolves were supporting Fenrir, the fewer weres the Order would have to fight.

"Very few werewolves support Fenrir, Albus," Remus said. "They simply have no choice in the matter."

"They will have a choice," Dumbledore insisted.

"No," Remus sighed heavily. "They really don't. He's the only alpha they know. Bad or good, they must obey him."

"How is it that you aren't doing his bidding, Remus?" one of the other voices asked curiously.

Remus was very quiet for a time. "I had my wolf beaten out of me by my own father. It's so screwed up that it doesn't know friend from foe."

The room was quiet.

"I'm... sorry, Remus," the voice came again apologetically.

"It's okay— what's done is done and no one can change what happened."

Further discussion went back and forth saying that if Remus' wolf was that screwed up, how the _hell_ was he going to muster the help of any werewolf. Sadly, no matter what anyone else said, Dumbledore was absolutely insistent, and like most things regarding his will, there was no contesting it.

_Pop._

"Very sorry, Master, but you said if Kreacher find anything for— your kitten, that I brings it to you immediately," Kreacher's voice droned loudly. "I did clean off the blood, just as master asked."

"Give me that, you foul creature," he snapped. There was a sound of something sharply hitting something else, but I had no idea what. "Go make yourself useful somewhere else in the house."

"Yes, master, of course," Kreacher replied. "Should I be moving dirty Mudblood's things to attic or burn them like you burned Mudblood's other things?"

"Shut your drunken mouth, Kreacher," Sirius hissed. "These people may not know your twisted little games, but I do. Get out of here. Now!"

"Yessss, Master. Kreacher honoured to serve the noble and most ancient House of Black."

_Pop._

" _ **Mudbloods! FILTH! Stains of shame and dishonour in the house of my Lord father's father! Despoilment and purity tainted with Mudblood filth and gore! Filthy blood spilled on the floors and walls! Grotesque acts of vileness and depravity in my father's house!"**_

I could hear heads turning. I could feel their gazes like searchlights moving in the dark, seeking, seeking, seeking for Sirius. I could feel the growing tension in the room like the bone-chilling cold of a Dementor's freezing aura. All eyes settled on Sirius. I didn't even have to poke my head out of Severus' pocket to know that was exactly what I would see.

I heard Molly's voice, a shocked whisper in the deathly quiet. "Sirius Black, what have you _done_?"

A loud crash, the sound of a door being busted in—

"Where's Hermione?" Harry's voice hissed across the room. "Where the bloody _hell_ is Hermione!"

* * *

_**-Harry-** _

"Hey, you see Hermione?" I asked, flopping down next to Fred and George.

"Not yet," Fred said offering me a licorice whip.

I eyed it suspiciously.

"I swear it's normal, and I don't mean normal for us," Fred said.

I took the whip and grunted my thanks. "It's not like her not to be here. She sent me an owl saying she'd be here early and to be careful breaking out of my uncle's place."

"She didn't join us at the Burrow, probably because of the family reunion thing," George said. "Merlin knows, no one wants to be around our mum when there is a reunion going on."

"I heard that, Fred!"

"What?!" Fred exclaimed. "Me own mum! Still can't tell us apart."

George snorted laughter, shaking his head with amusement.

"Hey, where's Hermione?" Ginny said, sitting down with us. "I saw her books in the room, but I haven't seen her anywhere."

"Hermione leaving her books behind? Not bloody likely," Fred said with a smile.

Ginny snatched up a chocolate frog and started munching. "What are the adults prattling on over?"

Fred smiled wickedly. "Let's find out, eh?"

The Extendable Ears came out, and we all dangled them down over the stairs, listening. Alas, the ears were not perfect. Sometimes we could hear rustling of clothing so clearly, but the voices were be muffled. Also, dangling Extendable Ears attracted—

"Crooks! Bad cat! Get away!" Ron hissed.

"Crookshanks is here," Ginny said. "Now we _know_ Hermione's here somewhere."

"Well she can't very well be in there with the adults. It's not like she wouldn't stand out!" Ron blurted.

I felt a bit of relief that Hermione was here, but hurt that she hadn't come to greet me. It was normal for her to come squeeze the stuffing out of me after our long summers away. It was very strange that no one had seen her.

The adults were yammering on about someone named Umbridge, something about giants, Remus having to go do— what? Dumbledore knew best, but I couldn't imagine Remus toddling off to parlay with werewolves. What I really wanted was for him to come back and teach DADA.

Most of it made little or no sense.

Snape was making some snarky comment about how foolhardy it would be for people to try and confront someone like Umbridge without significant proof. Others were snapping at him that there already was proof.

Ugh, Snape. There was nothing positive about him at all. A tingling in the back of my head reminded me that Snape had tried to counter-curse my broom in my first year, threw himself in front of a werewolf to save me and my best friends, and whenever I doubted him, I was proven wrong in the end. I tried to push that thought away, but it stayed here, taunting me. Hermione would always tell me that he was our professor. It was his job to teach and keep us safe. I might not like him, and Merlin knew he didn't like me, but it hadn't kept him from doing exactly that— repeatedly saving us from our own stupidity.

Hermione had tried, many, many times to keep us out of trouble, far more often than she encourage us to do shady things. There was that incident in the library's restricted section, but considering books were her only true passion and weakness, it almost made sense that it would be her "shady weakness" too. "Let's go look something up in the restricted section" was not the equivalent of "Let's go break into a hidden place guarded by a giant three-headed dog."

Hermione had been cleaning up our messes ever since the day she'd saved our skins by taking the blame for the girl's bathroom invading troll.

So, where _was_ she?

Sirius had sworn that he hadn't seen her.

Ginny said her books were here.

Crookshanks was here too.

Half-Kneazles were pretty damn smart, but I was pretty sure they couldn't floo themselves to places all on their own. Pretty sure. Almost positive. This was the infamous Crookshanks, after all.

Did Sirius lie to me? Why lie about Hermione being here? Was Hermione trying to set up another surprise party? She really sucked at surprise parties. No, if she had been doing that, Ginny would be looking all nervous, and she wouldn't have been asking about Hermione. She'd actually be going out of her way not to mention Hermione, which always ended up tipping me off.

What was I missing?

"Yes, master, of course," Kreacher's voice muttered clearly over the Extendable Ears. "Should I be moving dirty Mudblood's things to attic or burn them like you burned Mudblood's other things?"

_What?!_

As distasteful as that slur was, there was only one person here who could be called a Mudblood: Hermione. I was the dirty Half-blood. The Weasleys were the blood traitors. Tonks was the Half-blood freak thanks to her Metamorphmagus abilities. Kingsley usually managed to remain _un_ screamed at. Remus was a filthy half-breed. Hagrid was a half-breed freak. Dumbledore pretty much managed to go unscathed in favour of more "shameful" targets. Really, unless Sirius had been bringing in Muggleborn company of late, Kreacher could only be referring to Hermione.

" _ **Mudbloods! FILTH! Stains of shame and dishonour in the house of my Lord father's father! Despoilment and purity tainted with Mudblood filth and gore! Filthy blood spilled on the floors and walls! Grotesque acts of vileness and depravity in my father's house!"**_

_All of us dropped our Extendable Ears to cover our real ears. Mrs Black's high-pitched screaming echoed between our heads and the walls like nothing less than the ungodly howl of a raging hurricane._

But, even as it did so, my mind immediately latched on to the words. What would a Pureblood supremacist consider a "grotesque act of vileness and depravity" when even murder was perfectly acceptable to them?

No, it couldn't be. There was no way.

Kreacher's words— " _Very sorry, Master, but you said if Kreacher find anything for— your kitten, that I brings it to you immediately. I did clean off the blood, just as master asked."_

Kreacher and Sirius _hated_ each other. Hate was actually too mild a word. There was nothing that Kreacher did that he didn't do knowing full well that it would piss Sirius off, yet still following his orders to the letter.

"Hey, kitten," Sirius had said often. I had always assumed he just liked to tease Hermione and make her blush.

Kitten.

Mudblood.

Grotesque acts of vileness and depravity.

No. It couldn't be.

_**HE WOULDN'T DO THAT!** _

I was moving without thinking. I slammed into the door, forcing my way in. "Where's Hermione?" I hissed, desperate to know, but dreading what I would hear. "Where the bloody _hell_ is Hermione!"

Every pair of eyes that had been focused on my godfather now turned to face me.

"Harry," Sirius placated. "We'll be all done very soon."

"Sirius has some things to discuss with us, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We can help you look for your friend after we are done."

No, something wasn't right. We shouldn't be looking for Hermione at all. She should have been right here all along!

"You said she hasn't been here!"

"Harry—"

"Her books are upstairs!"

"Harry—"

"Crookshanks is here!"

All the blood seemed to instantly drain out of my godfather's face, leaving him as white as Sir Nick.

Suddenly, Tonks carefully placed something on the table: some sort of black button and— the locket Hermione had gotten from her parents for her birthday last year. She had placed a picture of us inside of it. I recognised it because the outside had a tiny dent on it where Ron had completely lost his temper and accidentally-on-purpose flung it at Malfoy's pointy head for calling him a weasel. Hermione had royally told him off for it, saying if he was going to fling random things at Malfoy, he should at least fling HIS stuff at him and not hers. The dent, ironically hadn't been from hitting Draco, but from when he had stabbed at it with his fork. From that point on, Hermione never, ever took that locket off. She had even put a waterproof charm on it so she could wear it in the shower.

I was seeing red now. "That's Hermione's locket! She. Never. Takes. It. Off."

Dumbledore looked as though he was about to say something but Sirius interrupted him. "She was called away, Harry. She didn't want anyone to worry."

"Called away? By who?" I demanded. Getting right up in someone's face with righteous fury was one of my special talents. I wasn't altogether proud of that but, at the moment, I really didn't care all that much.

Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were all standing in the doorway now, staring from me to Sirius, to all the others.

"Her parents, I suppose," Sirius stated glibly, waving his hand about like he didn't understand what all the fuss was for. "She didn't say, and I didn't ask."

Remus was suddenly in front of me, his arm pressing against my body just enough to offer support and guide me into place. "You're lying," he growled lowly. "Why are you lying, Padfoot? I can smell her in the house."

"Now you're smelling things," Sirius answered with a roll of his eyes. "I don't smell a damned thing in this house other than that vile pine cleaner of Kreacher's."

I tried to move forward to see, and Remus turned to stare back at me. His eyes slowly bled into a disturbing shade of amber-gold. I stayed put. I didn't need to be a wolf to know when I was being ordered to remain where I was. I'd never seen his wolf so close to the surface without it being the full moon.

"I can smell her, Padfoot," Remus said lowly, "and I can smell your lie too."

"I'm not lying to you, Moony," Sirius replied evenly.

"I know you're lying," Remus repeated, "but I know not why."

"Let's try a nice, basic question for a baseline, hrm?" Moody suggested, his magical eye whirling madly.

Remus' eyes darted over to him, but he nodded in agreement.

"Black, are you a bloody Death Eater?"

"No!" Sirius spat.

Remus' nostrils flared ominously.

"Did you do something to Hermione?"

"No!"

Remus stared fixedly at Sirius. "How is it that I never really smelled your scent before?

"Maybe I changed my brand of bath soap, come on now, Moony," Sirius grunted. He thrust his hands into the air, stretched, and shook his head in seeming disgust. "I'm going to go get a snack. You can call me when you want to start talking sense, ay?"

Moody reached out and caught Sirius by the arm, and there was a muffled zap, rather like the sound of static electricity that moved directly from Moody to Sirius. "Come on, Black, just tell us where the girl is and we can clear all of this up as one big misunderstanding."

"I don't know _where_ she is!" Sirius yelled, angry and frustrated. He seemed to suck in a deep breath, trying to center himself.

Remus flinched, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now that was the truth."

Suddenly, Remus was pushing me backwards, and he had me cornered by Auror Shacklebolt. Something was about to change, and I wasn't sure what. Something weird was in the air, but it was nothing I could see or smell— whatever sense applied to it, I couldn't make out what _it_ was.

"What happened this morning with Hermione, cousin?" Tonks asked. "Did she come here hurt? Was she upset at all?"

"She left before you showed," Sirius responded. "Ran off in a hell of a hurry."

"And what happened before she left?" Auror Shacklebolt asked, pinning me to my little space on the floor with a look that would have done Medusa proud. All of my pent-up rage in wanting to know exactly what was going on with Hermione suddenly seemed like something small and trivial in comparison to the sheer weight of tension that was hanging in the air. Fred and George were whispering uneasily to each other, and Ginny was trying to peek out between them to no avail. Ron kept shoving her back so he could squeeze into the doorway and listen too, thanks to my outburst.

"She got upset and left," Sirius said. "That was the last I saw of her."

"And you didn't think to tell anyone?" Molly demanded, outraged.

"People come and go freely from this place all of the time," Sirius snorted. "I'm the only one trapped here like some bloody prisoner! Why the hell should I question her for leaving as unexpectedly as she came?"

Something strange was going on. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it felt the same as when Uncle Vernon gave me some lame excuse for why giving me only one meal a day was proper. My daily meal which consisted of about a small chicken leg and some leftover peas that Dudley didn't want. It had that same feel to it— squiggly and greasy. The thing was, I'd never felt that way about Sirius. In fact, Sirius was, in my opinion, the only one that could really understand me. After Cedric had died, my nightmares had been worse than ever, and Sirius, even just writing him, had been such a great relief. Hearing about my dad and my mum— Sirius always had loads of funny stories to tell about them. Remus, on the other hand, was always sombre. While I knew he'd lost his best mates, part of me was angry that he'd think himself more affected. I was the one who had lost his parents, after all.

It was childish. And I knew it. He had lost friends he'd grown up with. I had lost people I hadn't even really known. Yet, that revelation somehow made me angry all over again. It's all I was anymore. Angry. Always so angry. Angry at Hermione for disappearing without saying anything, angry at Remus for getting more time with my parents than me. Angry at Ron for being a part of this big, wonderful family— I was just… angry.

Yet, even as angry as I was, something was niggling at me from the back of my head, telling me that Hermione's disappearance wasn't really about her being inconsiderate.

Since when was Hermione inconsiderate— _ever_? She wrote me all the time. This summer was the first time she hadn't written me every single week, and part of me was really worried about that. It just wasn't— Hermione.

It wasn't like with Ron, who I'd get things from randomly, here and there— usually smuggled food by Errol that didn't always make it to me in one piece. Errol usually ended up in the neighbour's place, in the tree, in the bushes, or smack into the front picture window. If I was lucky, maybe he'd come by when Vernon and Petunia were off taking Dudley to his favourite restaurant. Not that I didn't appreciate the gesture, because I really did. It was just the gesture was kinda lost when it only resulted in me being yelled at while all of my food was given to Dudley to "ease his trauma."

At least when Hermione sent her letters, she sent them by ninja owl. I'm not exactly sure how she did it, but the letter would somehow be slipped between the buttons of my night shirt with no sign of how it got there. I kept meaning to ask her, but I somewhat dreaded that all-too-familiar look she would give me and the sigh.

" _Harry, are you a wizard or are you not?"_

Once, she had even smuggled me a large tin of Scottish shortbread biscuits that had been stuffed under my pillow for me to find when I woke up. I hid them under a loose floorboard in my room, and by my room I really mean Dudley's second room. He had apparently trashed it so bad it was only worthy of the likes of me.

The very idea of Hermione not being around terrified me. Standing here, staring at my godfather gesturing angrily and swearing up and down that he had no idea where she was, when she had been right here, in his house, made that anger inside me burn even hotter.

It was very simple, really. Hermione would have said where she was going. She always told us where she was going: the library, to study, out on the green, to detention, Hagrid's place, McGonagall's office, wherever. Even if she had left in a hurry for whatever reason, she would have at _least_ said where she going. If anyone knew just how much not saying anything caused me to worry, it was Hermione.

Oh, letters! Hermione could never resist replying to a letter from me. I was so bad about writing back to her. She thought it was practically Christmas morning when I wrote back. If Hermione was busy with something at Hogwarts, which I doubted considering that Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were here and not saying anything. Surely Hermione would pause in whatever she was doing to write me a quick reply!

I used all of my pent up anger to storm back out the door, and everyone gave me a wide berth, as usual. I'd been quite the out-of-control teenage roller-coaster lately, and no one wanted to be anywhere near where I was going. I plopped down at the old writer's desk in the study, snatched up a piece of parchment, and hurriedly began to write.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I know you must be really busy wherever you are, and Uncle Sirius told us you had a sudden emergency or something come up. Could you please respond and send me back a quick reply with Hedwig? We're all really worried about you. Ginny is asking about you all the time. Fred and George have that worried crease between their eyebrows whenever your name comes up. Ron, well, forget I even mentioned Ron, ya? The rest of us are worried about you. Even if it's only a hey I'm okay. Please write me back, Hermione._

_Harry_

I rolled up the parchment, tied it to Hedwig's leg, and gave her a preserved frog leg. Hedwig hooted softly, nipped my fingers gently, and fluttered her wings. I carried her to the window and let her out, watching her fly off into the night.

"Send a letter off to Hermione, eh?" Fred said, nodding at me with a knowing look.

"Yeah," I replied. "She can't help but answer one from me. I usually— I'm kind of a bad friend," I admitted. "I don't write her half as much as I should."

George shook his head. "She'll understand. She forgives our little git brother for sucking air, doesn't she?"

I snorted. They weren't exactly lying.

George and Fred had always had a remarkably good relationship with Hermione. They seemed to realise that the kind of humour she required was not the kind that involved pranks and candy that made you throw up. In fact, they seemed to up their pranking whenever Ron insulted her, intentionally or otherwise, just to get her to smile. Maybe it was because of her parents having passed, but whatever it was, they protected her in a way that even Ginny wasn't. They pranked her mercilessly, but nowhere near as mercilessly as they did Ron or Percy.

"It's not just me, right?" I asked them. "Something doesn't seem right with Hermione not being here?"

Fred shook his head, and George curled his lip. "He's your godfather, Harry, but— Azkaban does things to you. I know people like to tip toe around that for you, but—"

I closed my eyes. "No, you're right. I get touchy when it comes to Sirius."

"Mmm. Touchy. You could say that," George grunted.

I slouched. "I've been a right git lately. Sorry about that."

The twins smiled at me, shrugging off my apology. "She'll write back, ya? Then we'll all feel a lot better."

I nodded. "Hermione won't keep Hedwig waiting," I said. "I told Hedwig to nip her until she writes back."

They eyed me. "Mmmmhmm. And you don't write her right back, do you?" Fred and George crossed their arms and scowled at me. "We're going to have to get her an owl of her own. We'll be sure to teach it to harass _you_ when it delivers the mail."

I flushed. Yeah, I really had been a proper git lately. As soon as Hermione came back from wherever she was, I'd have to give her a really big hug and apologise for being such a bloody hypocrite.

That did leave the mystery of why she hadn't written me much this summer. She had mentioned being busier than usual, and I did get the occasional letter from her, but none of them ever addressed any of the questions I had asked her in my letters. Something— wasn't right.

I walked back to the open door, that apparently the adults hadn't bothered to close it after my outburst earlier, and I found that Sirius was still gesturing and spouting off that he hadn't seen Hermione in days. Mrs Weasley was starting to become unglued, little by little, thinking Hermione was out there somewhere and no one knew where she was. She was gesturing at Dumbledore, asking him where Hermione was. Dumbledore was staring at Mrs. Weasley like she was a talking fanged geranium, and Remus was looking positively feral.

Tonks smiled at me as I came in. "Feeling better, Harry?"

"Yeah, I wrote Hermione a quick letter and sent it off with Hedwig," I replied. "Hopefully she'll— wait, why is Hedwig coming back already?"

"Huh?" A confused Tonks quickly opened up the window to look out.

Sure enough, Hedwig came zooming back in through the open window, flew right over my head with a screech, and made straight for— Sirius?

"Potter— why the _hell_ is your owl attacking Black's face?" Auror Moody snapped.

"Sh— she's not, sir," I explained. "I had her deliver a letter to Hermione so we can find out where she is."

"Then why is she trying to land on Black?" Moody barked the question. "Harry, get over here and remove your owl from Black's face. If that is her reply, I want to see it."

I rushed up to grab Hedwig, and she screeched and clawed at me, trying to get to Sirius. "Hedwig—what the— Sir, there has to be something wrong with her!"

"If I may?" Snape's voice rumbled. His posture hadn't changed at all until that moment, and I jumped when I heard him speak.

"Yes, Severus, just don't hurt the poor thing," Mr Weasley answered as he was getting his hands torn up trying to help remove Hedwig from Sirius' arm.

Professor Snape's stony expression barely changed as he pointed his wand at Hedwig. I stifled my instinctive urge to fling myself in front of her, or point my wand at him for threatening my owl.

" _Quietus,_ " Professor Snape intoned, and Hedwig instantly went limp in my arms, panting heavily from her frantic exertions. She was— completely unharmed. Why that surprised me was a matter of shame. Even now, I still didn't trust him. He was such a nasty git of a teacher, especially with me. Unlike everyone else, he had never once spoke well of my father, and that really angered me. He obviously had quite a grudge against my father.

"If she was bringing me the letter, Moody, shouldn't I read it first?" Sirius asked, pushing his way though.

"I sent the letter to Hermione!" I said, hugging my owl to me. "Why would she send the reply to _you_?"

"Well, she must have done if Hedwig was coming to me!" Sirius insisted.

"You said that you didn't even know where she was!" I blurted. Something was telling me to hold onto Hedwig and hold her against me like a Quaffle. Sirius was coming closer really quickly.

Tonks stood in front of me. "Well, why don't ya let Harry clear this right up for us?" she said, clicking her tongue impatiently.

"The owl was coming to me, Tonks," Sirius stated stubbornly. "That letter is mine!"

"We're all friends 'ere, cousin," Tonks said with a smile. She turned to me. "Come on, Harry. Open it up."

I unrolled the parchment from Hedwig's leg and frowned. "It's my letter. It's the one I sent to Hermione a few minutes ago. Why did she try to deliver my letter to you, Sirius?"

"Harry—"

" _ **WHY THE HELL IS HEDWIG DELIVERING MY MAIL TO YOU, SIRIUS?"**_

"Mr Potter," Professor Snape said, looming over me with all of the intimidation factor even Hagrid never had. "Follow me, please. I'm sure you lot have… many questions that need answering."

I wanted to deny him. He wasn't my professor— not here, anyway. There were no points to be taken.

Snape had already swept from the room, leaving an angry-looking Sirius, and a rather angry-looking everyone else to the room. He didn't even look back to see if I was following.

I followed. Merlin knew if I stayed there a minute longer, my mouth was sure to go off again. Snape walked through the kitchen and out into the back garden. The dark night sky and evening breezes offered a little solace to my turbulent emotions. I wondered if Snape was going to yell at me for being a total imbecile in front of everyone. Hell, I wondered if all of the adults were going to give me what for. I was genuinely worried about Hermione, but—

"Sit down, Mr Potter," Professor Snape said, his voice as stern as ever. Yet, even as it was, he wasn't insulting me at this given moment.

Deciding that being an arse was probably not going to win me any social points this time, I sat down right in the grass.

Professor Snape, much to my confusion, sat down too.

What was going on?

"Miss Granger has been unable to contact you due to some very pressing personal issues she found herself unexpectedly facing," Snape said, his face utterly deadpan. "She is currently unable to write to you, and right about now, your godfather is finding himself under questioning regarding something she would rather you not hear about from anyone but her."

"Professor, why are you telling me this?" Oddly, this was turning out to be the most civil conversation that he and I had ever had.

"I am telling you this, Mr Potter, because she has a secret to tell you, and I, for one, wish for you to listen to her very carefully. It will not be an easy thing— for her and for you. Bear in mind, if you give free rein to your wonderful temper and run off telling her that she's wrong, I will have an even lower opinion of you, Mr Potter."

I swallowed hard and nodded. I was confused as hell, but something told me that whatever secret Hermione had, it was a doozy.

Something wriggled inside of Snape's robe, and he opened it a little to expose an inner pocket. A little nose popped out, then a head, then the rest of a lithe and furry body followed. Two steel-grey eyes stared up at me from a fox's face. Five— I blinked— tails swished lazily back and forth. It was hard to tell the creature's colour at night, but I could make out a slight coppery hue trimmed in a silver white. Pale green fire rippled across the tails and around its feet. The creature, no bigger than a medium-sized dog, seemed to flow into Snape's lap. It affectionately rubbed up against the rather stoic Potions professor, eliciting a pet across its slender body and scritches on its rump, causing its tails to twitch and a back leg to move much like dog's when you hit just the right spot.

It stared at me, flopped over Snape's lap like a favoured pet. There was curiosity there, trapped its eyes. Its nose was working, trying to figure me out. I was a little baffled too. Snape had said Hermione had a secret to tell me. All I was seeing was a— oh.

"Hermione?" I whispered.

The little fox perked its ears, tails wagging slowly back and forth.

I held out my hand, and it headbonked into my hand like a cat.

Suddenly, the fox dove into the nearby shrubbery and disappeared.

"Ah?" I managed to say.

Hermione stepped out of the darkened foliage, her hair so dark that I wondered if I was seeing things. Her eyes— they were that same steel-grey. Her skin was pale as alabaster, and her cheekbones were higher, but I knew it was Hermione. The expression she wore, the way she stood— it was pure Hermione. It could be no one else.

"Hello, Harry," she said in her oh so familiar voice. "I'm really sorry I didn't write. I've been going through a few rather significant changes recently."

"Hermione!"

I tackled her with a sense of such profound relief that all my previous anger just trickled away. "Where have you been?" I asked. "You said you were going to be at Grimmauld!"

"I was, Harry," Hermione answered me, her startling grey eyes staring into me. "I was here a day before the original Order meeting."

"Sirius said you left— that something came up," I said. "What happened, Hermione? Why, what—" Hooray for lack of communication skills while under stress.

"Mr Potter, your command of the English language is stunning, as usual, but perhaps it would be wise for you to close your mouth and let Miss— Granger tell her story," Snape said, his dark eyes sliding to regard me with a completely stoic expression. There was no malice there or the twist of his mouth that usually came with anything that started with Potter and ended with whatever random thing I had done wrong.

He was being surprisingly— civil.

Despite my discomfort of his being there, perhaps I at least owed it to Hermione to shut my mouth and give her time to say something edgewise.

"I woke up one morning, and Sirius was there. He reeked of alcohol. He— started a conversation. Compliments, telling me what other people thought of me. He—"

Hermione stopped, sitting down next to Professor Snape and putting her back against his side. A jolt of shock ran through me as I realised she was sharing space with our dreaded Potions professor, and he was permitting it. What could have happened that would have caused her to seek comfort from him, of all people? And why was he suddenly willing to give that comfort?

Hermione had always told me that Professor Snape had a sworn duty to protect the students of Hogwarts. She had corrected me quite often, forcing me to call him Professor Snape instead of just Snape, giving me a hundred different reasons why I shouldn't be angry with Snape for giving her detentions. Maybe, she had been trying to tell me something all along, and I, as usual, formed my own opinions and came up with the wrong answers every time. Hermione had never shunned me for my opinions, but I hadn't missed seeing her disappointment each time it happened. I had just figured she was after some oddball idea like freeing the house-elves. Treating Professor Snape with respect? How was that going change him being a bloody wanker?

Hermione was staring down at the ground, he hands fidgeting with Snape's rather long robes in a comforting motion. "He accused me of fancying the wrong person and offered to…" She trailed off, closing her eyes. "Reeducate me."

"Person? What person?" I asked.

Hermione set her jaw and stared at me. "Does it really matter whom he accused me offering to spread my legs to?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. " _What_?"

"When I didn't let it happen, he continued without my permission," Hermione said, letting a sigh escape her lips. "Crookshanks leapt on his face, clawing at him. I escaped, but Crooks had to flee. He caught me again. He almost— then Tonks came to the door, and I fled. The stress caused me to make my first Animagus shift."

"It took me a while to get to safety," Hermione continued, "and once the Aurors knew, I was told to lay low in case anyone was looking for me— anything that could get back to Sirius. Which means I couldn't write you, Harry. I'm really sorry about that."

What was she telling me? I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it. I was watching her, wringing Professor Snape's robes between her hands like a washerwoman— something I knew Molly did whenever she was fretting over her children.

Sirius had tried to—

Tried to—

"No! Why would he do that?" I blurted. "He was my dad's best mate. He's a good man. He saved us from Remus when— You— you have to remembering it all wrong!"

My mind was screaming at me to remember that Hermione had never been the type to make things up. She didn't even tell tall tales with the rest of us during meals. She simply didn't lie.

Even with the nagging feeling in my gut. Even with my mind screaming at me that I had suspected Sirius of doing something bad all along, I couldn't, didn't want to believe it. He was one of my last connections to the father I had never gotten the chance to know.

I realised exactly what I had done the moment Hermione's face twisted into a sort of painful grimace.

_Fwoop._

A small fox was there in her place, all five tails drooping sadly. She snuffled under Professor Snape's outer robe, clambered back into his pocket, and quickly disappeared from sight.

Snape stood, but this time his face was not stoic at all. His lip was curled in the all-too-familiar sneer of disdain that he was known for. At his full height, he seemed to tower over me, and I could feel the prickle of his magic raising every hair on my body. I had driven Hermione into seeking safety— with Snape, and Snape was no longer in the mood to make the effort of being civil with me.

"By all means, Mr Potter," he said venomously. "Return to your godfather and believe the lies of a disgusting swine over your best friend. Prove to everyone precisely why she should never have trusted you at all."

Snape exited the garden, going back into the the meeting. He left me there, angry and frustrated, but mostly at myself for having the most hot and cold emotional swings and defending Sirius even when my gut was telling me that he had been lying to me.

Sirius was my godfather. He was my family. I had to stick up for him. I just _had_ to.

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were my family too, and they were such excellent examples of family too. They were blood family. They were far more related to me than Sirius. So why, idiot, can't you just keep your big mouth shut anymore? You used to think really hard before saying anything, and now look at you! You can't even let Hermione tell you her story and give her the benefit of the doubt, no, you just go and immediately accuse her of lying, even though you _know_ she doesn't lie. Way to go, Potter. Some friend you are.

Snape— Professor Snape— had left me wallowing in the state of my own impatience and determined disbelief. As I walked back into Grimmauld Place, Fred and George were waiting for me with their arms crossed. They didn't even try to make it look friendly.

"So," they said together. "Spill. Snape had his I-hate-all-living-things face on, and he didn't leave with it, so what gives?"

"I," I tried to say. "I—" Damn all language for failing me right when I needed it the most. "Hermionewasokaybutshe'snotreallyokayandIthinkIjustmadeitworse," I said all together in a garbled mess of words.

Twin sets of ginger eyebrows were raised.

Smooth, Potter. You can't even blame it on awkward teenage hormones and being dumbstruck trying to talk to Cho Chang.

"No! There is no way I'm going down to the DMLE so you can railroad me back into Azkaban!" Sirius' voice was loud and clear through multiple walls. "Albus, you tell them!"

All of us started making our way back into the other room again.

"Now, now," Dumbledore's voice replied calmly. "I'm sure that this is all a big misunderstanding. Sirius, why don't you pull out the relevant memories for our good Auror friends, and then we can put this all behind us, hrm?"

"Excellent idea, Albus," Arthur said with a sigh, patting a visibly anxious Molly on the back.

Snape was standing at the far wall, his arms crossed across his chest in a very familiar intimidating stance. Professor McGonagall was standing there next to him, her mouth flattened into a line so thin that her mouth looked looked like it was about to disappear altogether.

"I shouldn't have to throw my personal memories into a Pensieve just to prove a point," Sirius hissed furiously. "You all saw what _un_ due process did to me the first time around!"

Arthur spoke up, "This time you have the opportunity to show everyone that we're barking up the wrong tree, Sirius. All you have to do is give Kingsley and Moody the memories, they can take a look at them, and then we can all go home and get a good night's sleep."

"I will not be railroaded again!"

Remus, who was standing eerily still, his amber-gold eyes fixed directly on Sirius, pulled his lips back in a snarl and flashed his teeth ever so slightly. "Mate, we go way back, and because of that, I'm going to give you a heads up. Give them the memories before my wolf decides the best way to get them is by the swift removal of your head."

Molly was quickly shoving her children out of the door. Arthur wasn't all that far behind. Moody was jutting his chin at Shacklebolt, and Auror Shacklebolt took Tonks by the collar, yanked her to his side, and escorted her out the door. There was this strange musk in the air— an overpowering odour of animal and earth. The sense of rising magical energy in the room was thick enough to slice. It swirled and stuck to your skin like eerie fingers of fog.

Arthur was trying to pull me away too, but my legs seemed to be rooted to the spot. Remus was— Merlin, was he _growling_?

The full moon was days away, but only just, and from what I was seeing, Remus was using every bit of strength he had in an attempt to keep the wolf at bay, but he was slowly losing the battle. Something he had sensed was clearly stoking the fire of an imminent shift between man and wolf.

"Easy, Moony," Sirius said lowly, his eyes widening as he saw something truly frightening start to overcome the normally easygoing werewolf. His eyes darted as his arm twitched, perhaps to go for his wand.

I anxiously looked back and forth between Remus and Sirius. Dumbledore was tentatively easing out of his chair, backing up slowly to place himself between me and Remus. His deep purple robes brushed against me, moving me back, but I didn't want to move.

"This is all just a little misunderstanding, Moony," Sirius smoothed. "Nobody got hurt, everyone's okay here, right?"

Remus slammed his arms around Sirius' body, caging him, his hands twisting into something in-between hands and paws, with a set of wickedly sharp claws to match. A dense coat of fur seemed to swiftly roll down his face and arms. Remus' head jerked, bones snapped. A muzzle formed out of his face like molten wax forming into the shape of the beast. An impressive set of fangs flecked with foam twisted up from his gums.

"Remus," Sirius whispered, his eyes wide with rising terror. "It's me, your old mate, Padfoot. I know you're in there, Remus."

Remus, however, wasn't there at the moment. His eyes were baleful, and his powerful body had ripped its way out of his robes, looking surprisingly like the movie werewolf— a wolf that stood on two legs. The wolf's snarling muzzle froze but inches from Sirius' face. "Llllllllliiiiiiaaarrrrrrrr," he growled, his voice distorted by vocal cords that were never intended for human speech. He slammed one fist into the wall next to Sirius' head, his clawed half-paws busting right through like it was made of tissue paper.

Rage and hate burned in the half-beast's eyes— pure, unfiltered malice.

Suddenly, something pulled me into the other room as Dumbledore cast a stunning spell into the room. Whether it was meant for Remus or Sirius, I wasn't sure, but it slammed into Sirius. He went as limp as a ragdoll, falling to the floor. Then Dumbledore cast two more spells in quick succession, the first to petrify him and the second to wrap him securely in unbreakable cords, then he magically yanked Sirius out of the room.

"Potter," Snape's voice hissed as he jerked me out of the room completely. "Fly circles around your death wish at another time!"

Remus turned, a bestial snarl on his muzzle. He tensed, starting forward, and let out a terrifying howl.

Snape jerked the rest of me out through the doorway, practically throwing me bodily into the other room. I sprawled into Molly and Arthur, but I turned around, afraid that Remus would burst through the door any second.

Snape stumbled backward as Dumbledore fell back into him, toppling them both over onto the hardwood floor. Dumbledore waved his wand as the doors started to close. The doors slammed shut with a resounding bang.

"No!" I yelled, running forward.

Now everyone was convinced I had a death wish, and they tackled me to the ground. I was still reaching for the door. "

Remus threw himself against the doors.

_**Wham!** _

_**WHAM!** _

_**WHAMMMMM!** _

Wood was starting to crack around the doorframe. Dumbledore and Professors Snape and McGonagall, Aurors Moody and Shacklebolt were all channeling intense magic into the walls and doors of that room.

Layer upon layer of wards hung in the air and then disappeared into the walls.

Molly and Arthur were frantically adding their magic to the wards. Tonks was adding in additional magic of her own.

_**WHAM!** _

_**CRACKcrackCRACK!** _

_**WHAMwhamWHAM!** _

"How the hell is he transforming?!" someone yelled.

"How the fuck do I know? Keep that wall from breaking, dammit!"

Anger, no, absolute fury radiated from the other room.

_**CRACK.** _

_**WHAM!** _

A paw-like hand smashed through the magically-enhanced wall, just barely missing Dumbledore's head.

Everyone staggered back against the wall. Snape was dragging a badly-startled Dumbledore by the collar like a misbehaving student.

A bestial roar seemed to echo throughout the house.

The door split and Remus smashed through it, landing on his shoulder with a loud growling yelp as he skidded across the floor. He pulled himself up.

Molly was trying to get us all to Floo out, starting with Ginny, but when Ginny threw the Floo powder down, nothing happened. Molly was screeching in terror, grabbing her children and attempting to Disapparate, but that, too, was locked down. All of us had come through the front door for politeness sake. None of us had even thought that the Floo or Apparitions wouldn't work inside.

Remus turned at Molly's screeching with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a menacing snarl.

Arthur pulled Molly to him, slamming his hand over her mouth tightly, jerking her up to stop her struggling.

Remus paused staring at them all. Multiple spells slammed into him, but they seemed to bounce right off him. Whatever had pushed through his transformation into the beast, it had also strengthened his already powerful body. Incarcerus spells burst and dissipated like they were a child's toy. Magical bindings shattered into particles. No, Remus definitely wasn't there anymore. All that remained was hatred and rage.

Remus sniffed the air, and his eerie amber-gold eyes stared intently at Professor Snape. His lips pulled back as his teeth dripped foamy slobber. Remus lowered himself to spring, and he launched at the Potions master. All of their stunning spells just bounced harmlessly off him. He hung in the air, suspended in that heated, adrenaline-infused moment as his arms reached out for Snape.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Remus' wolf had every intention of murdering him.

Just then, a blur of copper and silver fur leapt out of Snape's charmed pocket, all of her tails zinging with magic and power. Her little muzzle was twisted in a snarl as her much smaller body sailed towards the rampaging werewolf. Green-tinted lightning arced from tail-to-tail until all five tails were humming with power.

_**Zap.** _

_**ZapZAPzapZAPPPPPPPPPPPPP!** _

A flash of bright white radiance filled the room, temporarily blinding everyone. There was a loud hum of energy in the air. It was like standing directly below the high tension wires in the Muggle world, only much, much louder. There was a screaming roar of power, that flooded the room, shaking the walls and floors.

And then there was silence— silence and a great white nothingness.

The white slowly began to fade bit by bit. I dropped my arm away from my eyes. I hadn't even realised I'd flung it up there to begin with. I realised with even more confusion that I was lying flat on my back staring up at the white plaster ceiling high above me. As I sat up, everything seemed oddly shiny and surreal, every detail heightened.

That was when I saw _her_.

A beautiful woman, tall enough to shelter Remus's now-human body against herself, Her raven-black hair trailed down her back in long spiraling tresses. Pale alabaster skin shone like the fullness of the moon as startling steel-grey eyes looked out over Remus' shoulder. A pair of pristine white fox ears poked out from on top of her head, flicking one direction and then another. Matching tails curled around her legs and swished back and forth lazily. I counted them; six white tails moved against her seemingly ordinary robes.

"Please— where is Hermione?" I whispered. Surely Hermione hadn't died. Not after all of this!

Luminous grey eyes stared into me as she gently guided Remus— a perfectly human-looking Remus— to the nearby couch and allowed him to slump heavily onto it.

"There is always a price to be paid," the woman said, and I realised I knew it. "Ten years of my life to grant one singular wish— a wish soulfelt but not paid for in deed or a selfless desire to help others." She turned, the movement seeming so graceful that I stared in awe. "To save lives, I did willingly pay the price for his whole-hearted wish, and this is the price I do live with."

She closed her eyes, moving her neck, and then staring at me with an eerie lack of movement. "I _am_ ," she said after a time, "Hermione."

"There is no way you're 'Mione," Ron blurted out from somewhere behind me. "She has bushy brown hair that looks like a rat's nest. She's got muddy brown eyes and plain looks. I don't know who the hell you are, but you ain't 'Mione!"

I think Ron actually looked angry. I just stared at him.

Fred and George, who had finally pried themselves away from their hovering mum, both smacked their little brother upside the head and scowled at him. "She's wearing the silver ferret ring we gave her for punching Malfoy in her third year."

Ron stared at the distinctive ferret ring adorning the older woman's finger. The twins had always been very proud of that ring. They had wanted to charm it into forming into something that would hurt Malfoy a little more, but Hermione had informed them she wasn't planning to make a habit of punching Draco unless he did something to deserve it.

"Our little sis has become our older sis," Fred said with a wink.

"Wicked," George replied, grinning.

"Easy way to sort this out," Ginny said, bouncing up to Hermione. She whispered something to Hermione, and the older witch leaned down and whispered back to Ginny. Ginny blushed scarlet. "Yup! It's Hermione!" she exclaimed and proceeded to hug her tightly.

It was strange— didn't they see the ears? The tails? How could you possibly miss the tails?

Hermione was speaking with Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore, and none of them seemed to bat an eyelash, save for Hermione's spontaneous change in age. I tried to make out Dumbledore, but all I caught was "sit her N.E.W.T.s," "apprenticeships," "Dolores," and "new quarters."

"Nymphadora," Auror Moody snapped. "Help me get this miserable cur up."

The three Aurors were physically heaving Sirius up onto the couch rather than using magic.

"I'm afraid that I won't be any use to you, Headmaster," Remus was saying.

"Nonsense, my boy," Dumbledore answered. "You seem more than fit to defend yourself amongst the werewolves."

"No, sir, you don't understand," Remus explained. "I'm not a werewolf anymore."

"I realise you aren't one right now," Dumbledore chuckled.

Remus sighed. "No, I'm not a werewolf— at all. The full moon is in two days and I don't feel agitated at all. I don't feel the wolf's presence anymore. I can't smell everyone anymore. Albus, if you send me to the werewolves now, they will kill me."

The conversation between Professor Dumbledore and Remus was interrupted by a loud cry from the further corner of the couch.

"Get off me, you filthy blood-traitors!" Sirius bellowed loudly.

The three Aurors were staring at Sirius in complete shock.

"You think you're all so smart, cornering me in my own bloody house, but you're nothing! Nothing! I'm tired of the lot of you," Sirius raged. "I didn't frame my baby brother up to get him murdered, poison my father, and put my mother under multiple Dark compulsion spells just to have you go and ruin everything for me!"

"You're such a gullible lot!" Sirius sneered. "There I was, right under your noses, corrupting my fellow students and recruiting the next generation of Death Eaters, and you didn't even suspect a thing. You just chalked it up to a teenager rebelling against his Slytherin family. And Peter? That snivelling little failure of a wizard couldn't even get us the location for the Potter house. If I hadn't driven Remus away and made him doubt how safe he'd be around a child, James and Lily might still be alive today! If I hadn't been there, Wormtail wouldn't have been made their Secret Keeper, and we couldn't have waltzed right in and paved the way for our Lord to come and lay the Potters low."

"I made sure that Lily never forgot how horrible you were, Snivellus," Sirius spewed hatefully. "I made sure you were late for the meeting. I cut you up, using a very interesting little ritual to scrape the Dark Mark off of you. The Dark Lord would call, but little Snivellus wouldn't come, and he would die at the Dark Lord's hands for being a traitorous half-blood."

"But no, you had to bring your filthy, slimy, greasy haired self back to _**MY**_ house and heal yourself," he continued. "I could smell you on her as she lay on my couch, and I knew _exactly_ what I had to do to turn her to our cause. I'd show her what a real man is. She'd be begging me to take her, and I would. But that damnable half-Kneazle finally realised I wasn't pretending anymore, and the little bastard tore up my face! And right when I was all set to take her right here on my mother's father's father's floor, that blood-traitor Nymphadora just had to come knocking."

"I think I'll just insure that none of you can leave here," Sirius hissed. Dark blood was dripping from his newly-cut hand. "No magic will help you now, in the sacred walls of the noble and most ancient House of Black."

Everyone had their wands out, attempting to cast something— anything, and the magic simply fizzled and died. I stood there, unmoving, frozen in total shock.

Then Sirius waved a hand causing the magic of the house to become incredibly heavy and oppressive— threatening to crush us with the sheer weight of its power. Even if I had been able to before, I wouldn't now.

I was lost in it— partly because I was too stunned to fathom the change that had come over my godfather. He was the best mate of my dad, and now Sirius was saying it had never been friendship. Surely there was something wrong with him. He'd been influenced, hexed, cursed even—

It couldn't possibly be true.

"Sirius!" Remus hissed, struggling against the power of the house crushing down upon him.

"Ah, the half-breed," Sirius taunted with a sneer. "Moooony, Moony, Moony," he chanted. "You had such potential, Moony. I dressed up Snivellus like a pig for slaughter, and you couldn't even murder him as a bloody werewolf."

"Then, when I made up all those reasons why you were such a danger to the Potter's little baby darling, you just picked up your things and left like a dog with its tail between its legs," he said, twisting his face into a horrible mockery of compassion. "You know, Lily was so easy to fool. She liked the bad boys already, she just didn't want to admit it. I whispered sweet things in her ear, turned her against people by crying my woes out to her— oh, my horrible, Dark, Pureblood, family. Suddenly, she couldn't help but believe me. Slytherins were all evil. Mulciber was some raving Dark alchemist set out to poison everyone. Avery was a puppy-kicking bastard. Mind you, I did turn them into that, just for fun. I addicted Peter to power, twisting his pranks into torture. I made him _**LIKE**_ it, then when he realised his error, I reminded him of all the things he'd done to everyone. No one would _ever_ believe him the likes of him over me."

"When I found out he was still alive, I knew— I _**KNEW**_ he was trying to make good and protect those pathetic Blood-traitors. He crawled to the Weasleys, trying to keep those sickening Muggle-lovers from being targeted by our Lord. The little rat. I wonder— how often he had to torture himself so as not to relapse into his Dark ways? I wonder how much candy he had to eat to keep his mind off torturing those little children instead of helping them. Hrm?"

Sirius' face was dark— so very dark. His grey eyes were filled with implacable malice. "You know what, Moony? My dear, dear mate— if it weren't for you, Dumbles over here would never have thought me such a clean and . Convincing our lot to become Animagi just to keep you company every month? So very noble. Such a supportive friend. Of course my "pranks" were just misguided boyhood foolishness. I would never _deliberately_ murder a schoolmate. I would never mean to cause true harm by stoking the fires under Potter and stroking his ego, making him do exactly what I wanted him to do: drive Snivellus ever deeper into my Lord's waiting clutches. Halfblood— worthy only for his skill in potions. Potions we could use. Without him— Potter ran off with his little Muggle whore and popped out a little Potter-spawn."

Sirius turned to stare at me coldly, his tongue sliding under his upper teeth. "Children are nothing but a weakness. My parents believed that blood was stronger than hate, but they were wrong. I hated them more than anything. They favoured Regulus— the ideal son: so very proper, suave, and socially acceptable. For equality, they said whoever provided the first heir would be the next head of the Black family— to which all of this would fall in their lap. At first, I bedded every girl that I could, figuring that one of them would surely fuck up their little contraceptive charms and, lo and behold, I would have an heir. But they didn't."

"The next I hear is that Regulus was engaged to Lucius Malfoy's little sister, who had been carefully hidden away in Beauxbatons— safe from my Lord's scrutiny. Dear mother couldn't stop herself from blurting out the secret. She was so very _proud_. The Blood-traitor twins, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, they kept the witch safe from me for a few years, but then she had to have her little whelp. I killed the wench after having dealt with my baby brother, but Gideon and Fabian were one step ahead. I finally caught them ogling some Muggle filth, a baby in their arms, and I murdered them all— an end to the line of my perfect baby brother and my peace-loving parents."

"I am the sole heir of this house," Sirius announced with a sneer. "And I will bury the lot of you under the floorboards after you _die_."

"Sirius," I groaned aloud. "Don't do this! Please, let us help you! Let Professor Dumbledore help you!"

Cold, grey eyes stared back at me as his lip curled back from his teeth in an animal-like snarl. "You just don't get it, do you, boy? You poor, gullible, stupid, mongrel of a Gryffindor. Just like ya' father. Just like yer Mudblood mum. You want to know why the Dark Lord will win? Because people like you think that people like me are on your side. And you think people like him—" he said with a truly disturbing smirk, jutting his chin at Professor Snape as he tried to pull himself back up off the ground. "You think _he's_ the bad guy. The sheer irony of it all is simply delightful, don't you agree?

I stared at the head of Slytherin house, the Potions professor I had hated for my entire school career. His face was suffused with rage like Remus' had been, just a few minutes before he had shifted without being compelled by the full moon. In the back of my mind, I idly wondered what Professor Snape might shift into. If he did, it was sure to be something enormous and terrifying, judging by the way my day had been going so far.

Hermione had aged ten years after revealing she was a multi-tailed magical fox who could grant wishes.

Remus had turned into a werewolf without the full moon, and then became fully human.

And my godfather… my godfather had turned into a raging pureblood supremacist.

It wasn't that much of a stretch to think that Professor Snape would probably transform into something even worse, and then I suddenly realised that I was doing _exactly_ what Sirius knew I would.

I was turning Snape into my mortal enemy. Again.

Sirius was laughing uproariously. "Oh, I see it, and it is absolutely glorious. You sorry little half-blood whelp, turning Snivellus into a monster, even as I stand here forcing your pitiful bodies to the floor." He flicked his hand and the pressure increased sharply, slamming my face hard into the floor. He stomped over to where Hermione had been forced to the floor as well. I turned my eyes to Dumbledore, and saw that he was struggling to breathe. His eyes were wide, and his hands were clenched as he struggled to drag himself across the floor.

His wand.

He was trying to get to his wand that had fallen to the floor during the house's attack on us all.

_Crackle._

My eyes widened as Sirius stepped down on Dumbledore's hand. "Going somewhere, Albus? Feeling a little naked without your precious wand?" He picked up Dumbledore's wand and pointed it squarely between the headmaster's eyes.

" _Crucio!"_

He turned it to Snape, McGonagall, Moody— everyone he could see as he screamed the Unforgivable at each and every one of us he could see. I knew I was coming up next, but he turned to Hermione. Raven black fur was quickly replacing the once pristine white of her ears and tail.

"You little Mudblood bitch," Sirius hissed. "I will take my time with _you—_ _ **CRUCIO!"**_

Hermione's screams of agony were high and haunting, seeming to reverberate off the walls.

" _ **No!**_ _**Hermione!"**_ Professor McGonagall was crawling across the floor to her.

Auror Moody was clawing futilely at the floor, getting tangled up in the Black family tapestry. Remus was convulsing on the floor, no longer empowered by his werewolf alter-ego. Auror Kingsley was tangled up in the curtains, looking like they were trying to devour him whole. Arthur and Molly seemed to be glued to the furniture. Ginny was being mauled by the bear rug. Fred and George were being ferociously attacked by the fireplace tools. Ron was being beaten bloody by an entire shelf of heavy books. Auror Tonks was being slowly strangled by a braided cord of some sort that had sinuously flowed across the floor to her like a snake. Professor Snape, who had apparently been forgotten by the attacking furniture, flicked his eyes to me. His black irises had seemingly swallowed up the whites of his eyes, his hatred burning white hot from behind, spilling out from within.

I had thought I had seen hatred before— his towards me— so many times before.

I had never been more wrong.

What I saw in his eyes now was pure, unadulterated hate.

Sirius repeatedly hit Hermione with Crucios, one after another, and as she screamed, I saw the blackness spreading across her fur. The blackest of black seemed to be spreading, dyeing her multiple tails even further. "Beg for me, Mudblood," Sirius cooed. "Scream for me. _Sectumsempra_!"

Crimson blood oozed out from the wide slashes in Hermione's clothes, dripping heavily on the old, hardwood floor. Hermione's steel-grey eyes darkened into a scarlet red, with markings of the same bright shade spreading across her face in a series of strange runic symbols. Her hands curved slowly, changing into half-paws not so different from Remus' shift into the bipedal werewolf. Glistening, obsidian claws formed out of her fingernails, and then I knew. I _knew_ that this Dark kitsune was all about the energy put into her. The vibrant, pristine creature Hermione had become was due to the selfless, unselfish acts of those around her. Now, the room was full of raw hatred— hate for being made fools, hate for the horrible, twisted man who had played us all for fools, hate for so much more than that.

Did the others see? Was I really the only one? Did Sirius honestly not _see_ what his brutal torture was doing to her?

Hermione's newly-manifested claws scratched deep gouges in the floor, smearing her blood against the boards, seeping into the slashes. She snarled at him, her lips pulling back from sharp white vulpine fangs.

A blast of hot, electric energy blew through the room as the sound of roaring wind and a chorus of piercing screams from the portraits rang throughout the house. Wood creaked ominously, fabric tore, and a bitter, bitter cold chased out the heat, freezing ice spreading over where the heat had burned. Hermione's hand shot up and clamped tightly around Sirius' neck as he gloated over her pain-wracked body. I heard the tearing as her claws dug deeply into the flesh of his neck and squeezed.

She was up, standing taller than I'd ever seen her. Her eyes blazed with a wrathful red light.

_**Hate!** _

_**HATE!** _

_**HATE!** _

"You," Hermione's voice was hoarse and gravelly after all the screaming. "You murdered my mother. You poisoned my grandfather. You Imperiused my grandmother and killed her with grief. You dare to torture me— here. HERE, in the house of My. Lord. Father. You imprison my mam. You attempt to murder my master. You bind my uncles. You betrayed my best friend— and his parents. The memories are here! _**HERE!"**_

She thrust her taloned hand in front of him where a shining platinum signet ring shone with old magic. "All of those memories— are mine. The ancestral memories are mine, released by my lifeblood upon the family ring. _**You. Are. A. DOG!"**_

She backhanded Sirius across the face, the sheer force of it sending him crashing across the room into a mahogany bookshelf. Her black tails were lashing wildly and green fire was blazing all around her. The vision of a bipedal vixen was superimposed over my vision of her, a ferocious snarl upon her muzzle.

"You shame the most noble House of Black with your detestable Pureblood supremacy," she growled lowly. "You corrupt the true heart of our ancient House. You— and Bellatrix, harkening to the days when blood was power, and our ancestors fell upon each other like starving _DOGS_. Fitting," she said, her claws slashing across Sirius' face, "that you truly are one."

The oppressive weight was slowly lessening. I could finally move my arm and push myself up. Fred and George were panting and gasping for air, freed but unable to do much more than catch their breath. Ginny was groaning. Molly and Arthur was struggling to get to their children, and Ron was moaning under a pile of books.

"How—" Sirius choked. "This is MY house!"

"No," Hermione replied, her voice cold. "It was never yours."

I saw her there— the vixen that was Hermione— glaring down at Sirius with such disgust and hatred that is seemed to scald the very air we breathed. The air was choking again, but this time, it wasn't focused on us. Miasma seemed to seep up from the floors of the house. Dark tendrils of foul Dark vapour— so very unlike Hermione.

Sirius snarled, a inhuman look upon his face, lunging at Hermione. He looked desperate, just has he had in the Shrieking Shack. A glint of silver struck the air, and he slashed across her chest.

Bright crimson blood welled up from the cut, spilling forth and through her already tattered, bloody clothing.

"I am the true master of this house, and I will paint the walls with your blood!" he screamed, his arm slashing.

Hermione's talonlike hand caught his descending stroke, and I could hear the bones breaking under her crushing grip. Her eyes were flaming red. Her other hand slammed into his neck and began to squeeze.

I saw her lips pull back from her teeth.

_**Rage.** _

_**Hate.** _

_**HATE!** _

_**HATE!** _

_**KILL!** _

"No," Professor Snape was standing now, struggling against the oppressive Darkness. "Hermione."

She turned to him, snarling, her face contorted in hate. "He killed my parents. He attempted to kill everyone here. He brought death to countless people! He deserves to _**die!"**_

"Yes," Snape said, his eyes pained. "But not by your hand. Not by you, Hermione."

She snarled, squeezing Sirius' neck even more tightly.

"Don't let him turn you into what he is," Professor Snape said, his eyes flickering with emotion. "You are far stronger than the likes of him. You are stronger than this. Think of all the good you have done. Do not lose it for him. Do not let him steal one more thing from the world— from your mother— from Alastor, from Savage, Amelia—" Snape took a step forward, opening his arms. "From me."

Hermione's eyes began to lose some of their fire. Red began to shift back into a luminous grey. The bright red markings on her body faded as the black of her fur shifted into a lighter grey. White spread up her pointed ears and down to the tips of her tails. Her angry tails began to slow their writhing, lashing dance.

"Severus?" she whispered.

"Let him go," he said calmly— Professor Snape was so terribly, terribly calm. His black irises had completely swallowed the whites of his eyes.

She looked at Sirius and then back at Professor Snape. She stared at her curving, murderous hands, and released Sirius as though he was covered in noxious toxic waste. She sobbed, staggering back, hyperventilating. She walked into those outstretched arms— arms of solid, unwavering black— and he swallowed her up, crushing her to his body as she sobbed, whimpered, and clung to him like a buoy after being tossed on the stormy sea.

"Severus," she whimpered.

"I'm here," he soothed, pressing his hands to her midnight black hair. "Be still. Be calm."

McGonagall was rushing forward. "Hermione."

"Mam?" Hermione was sniffling.

McGonagall and Auror Moody joined the embrace, and Hermione sank into their arms with sobs of relief. Professor Snape was chanting something, almost like a song, over Hermione's bleeding slashes.

Sirius was rising up off the ground, clutching at his neck where Hermione had nearly crushed it. He snarled, a knife suddenly in his hand, and leapt towards Hermione.

"Hermione!" I cried, willing my legs to not fail me.

But fail they did.

Suddenly, Auror Tonks was there, her hair taking on a vivid shade of cherry red. Her face had transformed into the a cross between that of a stampeding water buffalo and a brassed-off crocodile. She grasped the knife arm with her wrists, yanked him off balance, and brought her knee between his legs once, twice, and again.

"You," she hissed, "are under arrest." She twisted him back around, summoning magical bindings and slamming them around his wrists. She forced his arms behind his back, jerking his arm just right to make Sirius yelp. She slammed his head into the bookshelf, running his face across the remaining books that hadn't attacked Ron before. "You do not have to say anything, but if you do, be warned it may be used against you when you are brought before the Wizengamot."

She whipped her leg around, sweeping his legs out from under him, grabbed his feet, and dragged him across the floor. "Anything you do say," she continued, "may be given in evidence." She picked him up by the collar shoving him against the wall. "Do you understand these rights as they have been given to you?"

"You little half-blood freak!" Sirius spat, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth.

_**Conk.** _

An urn dropped down from the hearth, hitting Sirius squarely on the head.

The newly-exposed Dark Wizard fell to the floor, instantly knocked unconscious.

"Mrowl," Crookshanks said, licking his paw as he drew it across his ears and back.

"Auror Tonks," Auror Moody growled.

The formerly-wrathful Auror stared back at her mentor with a level of fright that one angry Dark wizard couldn't inspire in her.

"Congratulations, you're ready for the field," he snapped. "Take that sodding piece of shite back to the holding cell and let Savage loose on him."

Tonks' eyes widened as her hair turned a bright bubblegum pink. "Yessir!"

* * *

_**Fugitive Sirius Black Apprehended** _

_Dark wizard and fugitive Sirius Black was apprehended by Senior Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody as well the new Auror Nymphadora Tonks. The battle, which happened at an undisclosed residence, was described as "unlike anything ever seen before."_

_Black, who had escaped Azkaban back in 1993, had apparently been hidden away somewhere in London. His capture has led to the arrests of over a hundred Dark wizards and witches, some of whom have long been rumoured to be Death Eaters of You-Know-Who._

_The rather odd string of confessions from Dark wizards and witches, namely Death Eaters, has many at the Ministry wondering if this is some sort of insidious plot on the part of YKW, but why he would expose his own agents remains to be seen. Some seem to believe he did not plan all of this, while others seem to think this is all a twisted game of misdirection._

_The question remains: What is YKW planning?_

* * *

_**You Know Who Is Dead!** _

_Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge had a press conference earlier today to reassure citizens that the resurrection of You-Know-Who is just a paranoid rumour started by his former followers to terrorize our good wizarding public._

" _These Dark Wizards are simply turning on each other because their supposed Lord is dead," he stated. "The truth is there is no Dark Lord. There is no threat. While Dark wizards and witches do exist, this ridiculous rumourmongering will not take the Ministry off-guard."_

_Minister Fudge has dispatched his trusted Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in order confirm that educational standards are being met at Hogwarts._

" _Education will save us from this irrational fear!" Minister Fudge proclaimed. "That must be the main focus of my administration!"_

_Fudge has been struggling to maintain a positive public opinion after his Undersecretary attempted to ban Apprenticeships, one of our oldest and most treasured wizarding institutions. That fiasco, along with her vigorous campaign to see Remus Lupin arrested and banned from teaching due to Mr Lupin allegedly being a werewolf, has drawn skepticism of Umbridge's fitness to hold public office. Umbridge's allegations were, in fact, recently disproven when an entire contingent of Aurors watched over Mr Lupin during the last full-moon. Mr Lupin, however, did not transform._

_This latest crusade against Mr Lupin and others like him has people questioning Fudge's choice in Undersecretaries as well as his cabinet. Even so, Fudge has insisted that Undersecretary Umbridge take up a position at Hogwarts to assure the proper things are being taught._

_Piles of angry owl-delivered missives and Howlers have virtually buried the Minister's office, so much so that it has been reported that the avalanche of mail has been bursting out the windows with some of it being found by Muggles._

_Confirmation of this unfortunate breach of the Statute of Secrecy was not obtained by press time._

* * *

_**Dementors Joined By Human Staff to Guard Azkaban** _

_The tradition of having only Dementors guarding Azkaban prison has been changed due to a large number of arrests of the former followers of You-Know-Who: his notorious Death Eaters. The Dementors have been joined in their guard duties by a specialized elite unit of human workers trained to guard and provide additional security in hopes of preventing any further escapes, such as the Dark wizard Sirius Black, who has been the only prisoner to successfully escape from Azkaban._

_Due to the large influx of highly-dangerous Dark wizards and witches, the DMLE wants to take no chances. While Dementors still wander the grounds, they are now vastly outnumbered by human guards._

" _We can't risk allowing any of these prisoners to escape and are prepared to do whatever it takes to prevent them from doing so," Head Auror Gawain Robards stated._

" _Robards is protecting the citizens by being proactive," Auror Rufus Scrimgeour said. "There is nothing wrong with being extra-cautious when it comes to containing Dark wizards and witches._

_Wards have been adjusted, strengthened, and re-attuned, and shifts at Azkaban are limited to six hours at a time to ensure optimum alertness. This has led to an unprecedented number of employment opportunities for those looking for a steady job with excellent pay. A new barracks has been built as well as an on-site medical facility, an employee canteen, a recreation hall, and a commissary, adding both an added level of security for both the prisoners and the human additions to the Azkaban prison staff._

_Those interested in job postings for the new Azkaban community may send owls to Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, who is heading the administration of the new and improved Azkaban._

* * *

**A/N:** I do not hate dogs. I have no malice towards dogs. Sirius just happens to be a very horrible example of a dog… and I want to neuter him in this story. Preferably without anesthesia… using a pair of hedge clippers.


	3. Times They Are A-Changin'

**A/N:** Homework! Life! Argh!

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01

* * *

**Nine Tails of Retribution**

**Chapter 3**

Times They Are A-Changin'

The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is. - Winston Churchill

* * *

_**-Minerva-** _

Tea, lifeblood of a true Scot, was singing in my arteries, and I was perfectly happy with that. I leaned back in the chair as I watched Severus hold out his hand, and my plucky vixen daughter bounded over beakers and trays, grabbed a jar between her teeth, and carried it over to him, multiple tails a waving. He would, in turn, add it, point out some obscure thing known only to him, her, and Potions masters thrice his age. Hermione would yip commentary, and he would scratch her behind the ears, causing her to fall over, leaning into his side with a bit of drool dripping down his robes. Then, they would be back at it. He'd have her return the jar and fetch another.

It was endearing, I had to admit, and as her mam I could only approve of the bond between them. Now that she was rather forcibly aged, she could no longer stay in the dormitories with the other students, and one of Dumbledore's last tasks before he allowed St. Mungo's to treat him for a rather scary list of ailments he'd been plagued with for some time. The stress of the last month had finally destroyed that layer of optimism that had kept it at bay.

We had all been fooled by Sirius Black, but it had laid on Albus' shoulders the most. His judgement had given us the push towards trusting him— even though he was a wanted criminal. In the end, Sirius had been even more dangerous than he was thought to be originally.

Thanks to the Kitsune Truth Geas, as Alastor had dubbed it, Sirius had fallen prey to himself. He and his fellows were now spouting the complete truth to anyone and everyone. Even more amusing (or disturbing as the case may be) was that people were starting to randomly spew truths in odd places like the Three Broomsticks or Diagon Alley. Kingsley and Moody had found this to be an excellent way to catch Death Eaters in disguise, and they were having the time of their lives arresting people who literally told them everything they wanted to know. And then some.

Oddly enough, the geas seemed to affect only those affiliated with You-Know-Who, so, despite many people wanting it otherwise, one couldn't just have an Auror shake hands with their child and get them to confess to setting the family cow on fire or filling all of the closets with Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans.

Alas. Hogwarts would be so much easier to get the truth out of some of the miscreants had this not been the case.

After Hermione had indulged in a rather enjoyable belly-rub, Severus and I realised that our classrooms had moved to surround a rather expansive courtyard, side by side, and our quarters had, if you will pardon the expression, magically ended up right next to each other. The dungeons had been replaced by a rather stunning underground garden, filled with phosphorescent fungi and plants, an underground stream, and tunnels looking out into the Black Lake.

The Slytherin Common Room moved up a floor, shifting Hogwarts up a little, allowing the underground gardens to take over. The Slytherin students, suddenly able to have windows and fresh air, seemed more than happy with the change. They, like the other houses, now had an outdoor section to their common room, and the years of being the outcasts condemned to the dungeons and having to make up reasons for why that made them special and not outcasts no longer lurked like the white elephant in the room.

Now that Hermione was Severus' apprentice in full, he was responsible for her education, officially, and he was making sure she was ready to sit her N.E.W.T.s as well as put her finishing polish on her mastery project. Both of which, she was more than ready for. Between Severus, myself, just about every professor at Hogwarts, and the DMLE, Hermione was prepared.

She had proven it— and then some.

Poppy seemed to think that her preferring to wander around as her Kitsune self was perfectly healthy. It was her way of dealing with the world as she needed to, and as long as she was getting the things she needed done, she didn't see any harm in it. She was, also, sickeningly adorable and seemed to reduce the stress level of all around her by simply being there.

As for _her_ stress level, certain people seemed to do that for her. Severus was, of course, her go-to stress reliever. She did enjoy patrolling the halls with me, and most of the professors at Hogwarts enjoyed having her tag along. Now that she was a formally recognised apprentice, and looking significantly older, she could get away with being more obvious about her apprenticeship status. By the time the students returned, everything would be all set. Hermione would have a quarters linked off Severus' and mine (Thank you Hogwarts!) and we would both be close in case she had a crisis. Seeing how Dolores Umbridge was going to be joining us to teach DADA, there were a few of us hoping she'd be taken by the jinx on the position sooner rather than later.

Then, there was Sybill.

Hermione and Sybill hadn't gone along since Hermione's third year. While Hermione may not have had the "gift" for prophecy, Sybill was arguably far worse in many ways. Short of a few true prophecies, it was all a bunch of bollocks. Sybill knew it; I knew it, and Hermione definitely knew it. What really annoyed Severus, on the other hand, was that the woman refused to stop groping him, and she would do it in front of Merlin and everyone.

Well, at least, she had— until a certain annoyed Kitsune started exercising her inner mischief maker. First, all of the crystal balls had turned into crystal oblongs, causing Sybill to cry of misfortune and doom upon the school. Second, every time Sybill attempted to eat her spaghetti during the evening meal, it would rise up and try to slap her around. The agitated woman had attempted to switch to a different food, but the baked potatoes spat the butter pats at her, the jelly cubes lept down her shirt, the chicken wings somehow learned to do kung-fu and knock her glasses clear off her face, and salad rose up with a giant pod-like maw filled with fangs chanting, "Feed me, Sybill!" The breakfast bagels would sneeze their toppings off, the tea would pull back from her when she tried to sip, and during dinner river otters spontaneously manifested and ran off with her beef Wellington.

Severus, of course, would be wearing an utterly stoic expression the entire time, even as I desperately attempted to stifle giggles into my sleeve. Hermione, on the other hand, made a large show of eating her food slowly and methodically, her pointed fox ears sticking out of her hair as her tails slowly swished behind her. Sybill, ironically, couldn't see them at all.

Without the students around, there was no audience to these antics, but a part of me wondered if things would get worse. Much worse.

"Yip!"

I lifted my head.

Hermione had her jaws wrapped around a rather large and overly-stuffed gyro sandwich, and she was tearing into it on the nearby armchair. Severus had already finished marking his lessons for the day. Inventory had been done, supplies had been ordered, new furniture arranged, and general exploring had been accomplished. Something about having all your classrooms move up a floor and suddenly acquiring highly-desired outdoor access seemed to cause considerable scratching of heads.

Severus and I, of course, kept our smug smiles to ourselves. Now that our classrooms, offices, and chambers were side-to-side, the next year promised to be one of those interesting exercises in house animosity.

Argus, on the other hand, kept getting lost in the new hallways. Mrs Norris got side-tracked by shiny things and this perfectly round seed pods that would rattle and roll around. She'd go chasing after them, leading Argus on a merry chase. We could only hope that by the time the students arrived for the year that he remembered where our classrooms and offices were.

Filius "borrowed" Hermione for a day, and managed to do a little wishing on a furry Kitsune belly. His classroom, which had often doubled for the choir-practice was transformed into something highly reminiscent of the old Grecian theatres. His old, creaking blackboards had been replaced by wall-sized ones that covered the back wall from where he was lecturing. The back of the classrooms was flat, while the seating area was broken up into tiers. The padding seemed to please him, as he always seemed to have students ramming into them during charms practice. The blackboards, on the other hand, caused Filius to practically squeal with glee. Whenever you stepped up on the podium, whatever you said was automatically transcribed on the boards in concise notes— perfect for Filius when he wanted to keep an eye forward on his students instead of trying to write and watch at the same time.

"Severus! Severusssss!" a nasally voice cried from the door. "I need your help!"

I felt my eye twitch as I recognised the voice.

Severus swirled around, his dark robes swishing in the air with an audible rustle. "Professor Trelawney," he said through gritted teeth. "What brings you to my classroom?"

Hermione had frozen in place in the chair, her lips pulling back from her ivory fangs. Her tails twitched back and forth, reminding me of the writhing of angry snakes. I couldn't really blame her for that. There was something about Sybill that caused me to consider taking some rather drastic measures to avoid her— like making like a tabby cat and disappearing into the hidden depths of the castle.

"I can't find my classroom, Severus," Sybill wheezed.

Severus' eyebrow arched high into his hair. Many of the professors believed his eyebrow could cut glass with its sharpness. "Have you tried," he started to say, "looking where you parked it last?"

Sybill frowned, staring at him with puzzlement. "What?"

Severus didn't bother trying to explain. His lip curled with the customary disdain he usually saved for only the most imbecilic of dunderheaded fools. He scowled at her. "You shouldn't be here Professor Trelawney. "The students are not due back for another month, and last I checked, you have never brewed potions for Madam Pomfrey nor have you ever shown the slightest interest in renovating the school curriculum with the rest of us before the start of term.

"This is my home," Sybill said with a rather nasally voice. "Why shouldn't I live where my home is?" Then she proceeded to mutter a string of nonsense under her breath, moving her hands around like a squirrel with a nut.

"All staff members who are not doing previously approved tasks do not live in Hogwarts while school is not in session, Sybill," I said, sighing from my spot on the settee. Hermione had flopped on my lap to continue gnawing on her sandwich, seeking her reassurance as she could. Her eyes remained warily fixed upon Sybill.

"Minnerrrva," Sybill whinged. "You have an agent of death itself sitting upon your lap! It's an evil omen that reeks of doom! You should banish the foul creature before it sheds its disaster and ill luck upon you!"

My daughter? An agent of death? That was a new one. Sirius Black might think she was, if he was even in any condition to think coherently. Judging by what Alastor had told me, Mr Black would not be in any condition to wreak his brand of havoc upon anyone.

His sentence had been rather harsh. An emergency meeting of the Wizengamot had been held and it hadn't taken the members very long to determine his ultimate fate. If there had been any trace of pity left for the man who had been framed by his former best friend, it had been erased by a shockingly long list of murders, conspiracies, and framing of his entire family.

Number twelve Grimmauld Place and all of the remaining Black family assets had gone to Hermione as the only true heir, but her identity was sealed under Oath until the conclusion of the war. Sirius had gone through quite a bit of trouble to insure he had been the sole remaining member of his family, save for his cousin, Bellatrix. While Bellatrix had done all she could to scour her own side of the family, Sirius had done more than his share of dirty work as well.

Narcissa was currently being treated at St Mungo's for some rather extensive mental manipulation. Her sister, Andromeda, had apparently been spared due to her marriage to Edward Tonks, and Lucius and Draco were being treated as well for extensive subliminal suggestions that had been charmed into Lucius' walking cane and Draco's wand. All of these things had been put into motion long before both Bellatrix and Sirius had ended up in Azkaban, and many of the healers believed it could take months of treatment to erase the invasive level of conditioning they had been under.

Aurors had been sent to the Malfoy's estate to sweep for any more little "gifts" that might have been left behind by Bellatrix or Sirius, and every room had been combed over object by object. Over a hundred random objects had been cursed and otherwise manipulated, and many of them had been specifically designed to continuously feed a brainwashing programme into each of the Malfoys.

The message was quite simple.

Obey. Pure-blood must reign supreme. Support the Dark Lord in all things.

The biggest question that Alastor and Kingsley had, however, was how many other families were being tampered with just like the Malfoys?

Hermione wanted Severus, myself, Alastor, and Amelia as well as trusted senior Aurors like Savage and Proudfoot to come with her for the opening of the Black family vaults. Sometime, after all the curriculum had been beaten down, rooms stopped moving around due to random-not-so-random acts of Kitsune magic, and a hundred other things stop spinning around our heads, we would all go together. That might take some time…

Speaking of things spinning— Sybill was clinging to Severus, pleading for him to come help her "find her rooms."

"Unhand me, Professor Trelawney!" he snapped, yanking his sleeve away from her.

She captured his arm, petting it through the robes. "Severusssss, Severusssss!" she cooed. "If anyone can find my private rooms it would be you."

"Perhaps if you stopped nipping cheap sherry so often, your memory would not be so addled!" Severus hissed.

Really, that woman. Did she have even a shred of common decency left behind those thick glasses, gauzy robes, and shawls? She was hanging on Severus' arm, petting it like a prized golden sheep.

Hermione growl-ruffed, pawing at my hand, and I realised I had stopped rubbing her belly. I apologised for the distracted neglect on my part by resuming my duties. With that, her tails seemed to slither around my wrist, carefully keeping physical contact with me.

I sighed. I found myself wishing, however futilely, that Sybill would be outed for the shameless fraud that she was. Maybe if her face turned shamrock green every single time she started wailing about death, doom, and someone dying a horrific, twisted death, people would start taking her a bit less seriously. I sighed, pitying poor Severus suffering with his incense-ridden cling-on. I shook my head. "I just wish that horrible woman would get vivid mental images of Albus and Hagrid naked and dancing a jig whenever she thought of Severus. It would be worth it to be around just to watch the disgust and horror spread across her face. Even better, maybe she could have some rather embarrassing flatulence when she lied— the stench proportionate to her lie. That would prove to everyone what a charlatan she was."

Hermione growl-yipped happily as I continued to rub her exposed, fluffy belly. Whatever protocol there might have been between I and my daughter as a human, Kitsune Hermione was having no part of it. She wanted her belly rubbed, and she wanted it rubbed at once.

_**Zap!** _

Tendrils of green-tinted static seemed to arch between Hermione's tails.

_**KerZAP!** _

Did that arc over to—?

Suddenly, Sybill turned an unhealthy shade of green and fled out the classroom door, with her hand covering her mouth. I'd never seen the ridiculous woman move so fast before. Even more strangely, she didn't trip over anything. Unusual, that.

Severus and I exchanged glances as we heard the distinctive sound of someone projectile vomiting into the rosebushes.

"Minerva?" Severus' voice rumbled.

"Hrm?" I replied.

"Do I even want to know, or should I just make you some of your favourite rose-scented hand-creme?"

I stared down at Hermione who looked back at me with her crooked vulpine halo on.

"Hand-creme would be fabulous, Severus," I said with a wink, rubbing Hermione's ears and belly at the same time.

"Yip!" Hermione agreed, sinking happily into my lap.

"You, my bonnie daughter," I said with a smug smile, "you get an extra forfar bridie for dinner."

Hermione's tails swished back and forth in pure pleasure.

Somehow, I had to think that she had planned for that outcome, but whether that was true or not, she definitely deserved quite a reward for getting Sybill off of Severus and out of our hair for a while.

Thank Merlin for that.

* * *

_**-Hermione-** _

I was being stalked.

By a _bird_.

The phoenix warbled at me, landing nearby. I had heard about him— most of Hogwarts had— but to see him was an entirely different thing altogether. He was big, very big, and when you're a fox— well, a small multiple-tailed fox— then size starts to get pretty significant.

"Hello," said the phoenix.

 _Blink. Blink._ There was this tingling in my head. I heard the voice, and the phoenix was staring at me intently.

"Just think the words into my head," the bird said, turning his head almost upside down to peer at me. His feathers poofed out around his head like a mane.

"Hello?" I attempted, feeling rather stupid.

"Don't feel stupid," he chuckled. "You're new."

"Very new," I replied, feeling like a child of five being confronted with a racing bicycle instead tricycle for the first time.

Fawkes warbled in my head— laughter. "Six tails. Impressive. Chose the benevolent path. Even more impressive. Sorry."

"Sorry?" I asked.

Fawkes sang a sad, sympathetic note. "Sorry you had to go through what you did."

"Oh," I replied. "It had its moments. At least he's gone now— locked away."

The phoenix preened his wings. "The dog was always unstable," he said after a moment. "His potential was great, but his fate was uncertain."

"Is fate ever certain?" I pondered back into his mind.

Fawkes chirruped and made a _kekkekkekk-_ ing sound. "Not always. Some have clear fates. My human— he is fated to soar high, and then plummet like a roller pigeon."

I had so many questions, but part of my mind was pondering if Fawkes was so aware of what was going on around him, why didn't he talk to more people?

"You're not a person," Fawkes replied, his head crest rising. "Not anymore."

I chewed on that awhile. I felt like a person. Okay, I was a Kitsune feeling quite like a person. What the hell was I, really?

"You," Fawkes replied, reaching over to preen my ears.

I flopped over, my head full of mush. Oh, that felt _good_. My tails started vibrating.

_**Zap!** _

The courtyard was now filled with fruit trees of all kinds, generously providing fruit and shade to anyone who found their way there.

As the twins would say: wicked!

"Thank you," Fawkes said. "My chicks would thank you as well, if they were here too."

"Chicks?"

His feather crest rose in amusement. "When a male phoenix and a female phoenix love each other very much—"

"Smart arse," I said.

"Smart bird," he replied, _kekk_ ing.

Fair enough.

Fawkes warbled. "I had to fly quite a distance to bring food to my mate and chicks. This will allow me to stay close to protect them and not have to go far to provide them with food."

My tails waggled. I liked the idea of a family of phoenixes being around.

Fawkes was busying himself by making a pint of cherries disappear down his gullet. "Mate can't leave the nest. Chicks are too young. So, I must carry enough food to feed them all in one go, at least, up until now."

The cherry tree shimmered, shook itself, and more cherries reappeared.

Testing a hypothesis, I snapped at a few, eating them. Sure enough, after I had de-fruited an entire branch, the cherries reappeared. Magic—you could make all sorts of rules, such as food not being able to be conjured out of thin air, but it kept surprising you.

Fawkes plucked a tail feather from his rather extensive collection. He extended it and pressed it behind my ear. I felt a tingling warmth spread throughout my body. Fawkes pulled away, but the feather remained fused to my head. "Thank you," he warbled. "A token of my appreciation."

"Yip!" I agreed out loud. I was never one for flashy fashion accessories, but this one seemed just right. I yawned toothily, my tails wriggling.

"Want to do something fun?" Fawkes asked, his head crest rising.

Oddly, I felt a sort of tingle over my head, like the hair was rising on my arm, only on my head instead. I saw, out of the corner of my eyes, that I had a sort of feathered frill around my head, like a mane. Well then, that was a bit different. Curiosity made obvious, I realised I wanted to do something fun. Yes, please.

Fawkes warbled. "Relax and enjoy the ride."

His talons closed around my scruff, and whoop, I was aloft.

_Wheee!_

I may not have been much of a broom fan, but phoenix flight was amazing! I opened my mouth just to feel the wind blowing through it. My ears were swiveling. My tails were swaying in the wind! Life was glorious!

_Plunk._

I landed on all fours on a balcony outside what appeared to be Dumbledore's office. A mottled brown phoenix raised her head from the nest she was tending in the middle of a flower box, and Fawkes transferred some of his fruity loot to her. She, in turn, fed the most adorable collection of tiny black-eyed lint-balls I'd ever seen. Each of them had different colours, but all of them had dark and light spots making it look like they were dappled by the sun.

_Peep. PeepeepPEEP!_

The chicks tumbled over each other to shove each other around. Each wanted food, and they wanted it right now!

They were so adorable!

The female phoenix warbled. "They stop being adorable when they try to fling themselves off the nesting box."

Oh, well. I suppose that _would_ be an issue.

"Hello," I greeted.

"Hi," she replied. "I am Calida."

"I'm Hermione," I replied, giving a small bow of my head, which she returned.

She nudged her checks out, giving them a swift peck to keep them in line. "The orange one is Titus, the red is Nuri, the orange one is Hotaru, and the purple one is Aalish."

"I call them Trouble, Nuisance, Tangerine, and Eggplant," Fawkes noted with amusement, earning himself a reprimanding peck from his mate.

Four multi-coloured lint-ball chicks jumped off the side of the flower box nest and immediately pounced on me, scrambling to get to the highest spot.

Eggplant— er Aalish— broke into a joyous song from between my ears, proclaiming herself queen of the Kitsune mountain. I tried to move my eyes to get a better look at her, but she was just out of my sight range. The rest seemed to be playing a rather enjoyable game of grab-a-tail-and-cling-with-your-beak. Good thing I had more more than enough to go around.

"Ready to have some fun?" Fawkes asked, a low kookaburra-like laugh erupting from his beak.

I perked, and so did Trouble, Nuisance, Tangerine, and Eggplant.

Fawkes and Calida took off from the balcony and flew over to another balcony on a different tower.

The chicks peeped excitedly, perched over my head and tails.

"Let's go!"

"Go now!"

"Go?"

"Gogogo!"

Well that was all fine and well, but how was I supposed to get over— _ **EAAGHHHHHGH!**_

I was flat on my back, head down, tails over my face, smack in the middle of the balcony I had been thinking about.

The chicks peeped triumphantly, hopping off of my rather disgruntled body.

"Thanks!"

"Yay!"

"Again?"

"You're cool!"

Fawkes peered at me, seemingly upside down. "Sorry, I thought you knew about that skill."

Calida pecked her mate upside the head. "She's new at this. Who would have taught her?"

Fawkes looked rather sheepish. "Sorry. Kitsune travel as foxfire. They travel really really fast, and sometimes, they just will themselves where they want to be. We phoenixes, we can fly and carry impossibly heavy things. We can predict possible futures. We inspire as we can— we heal those we find that are forced to combat the Darkness as innocents. No matter where we are born, this is our path.

"Kitsune have two paths: the benevolent trickster and messengers of Inari Ōkami and the malevolent beast whose desires are selfish and whose very presence is said to encourage the evils of the world. The young look as normal foxes do, but as the deeds of Dark or light imprint on the soul, their fur changes into the white of the Inari— or the dark of those who chose the path of chaos, strife, and murder."

Calida continued for her mate. " _Zenko_ are the Kitsune that are aligned to goodness of life. _Yako_ , or the _nogitsune_ , are those who chose the malicious path. Each faction has their own traits— a kinship to the will of the god Inari or a love of the Dark and chaotic. One thing remains true to both: the foxfire and the tails."

I peered at my multi-tailed rump. They were definitely a mystery. They had me. I was curious, and I didn't really give a flying fig that I was learning about Kitsune from a pair of phoenixes. For all I knew, the phoenixes were better versed in Kitsune than any human.

They probably were.

"Her!"

"Mio!"

"Ni!"

"Play!"

"Yes! Play!"

"Plaaaaay!"

I was being lured into play by four very excited phoenix chicks.

I peeked into the nearby door that had been left wide open. Who expects people to come breaking into their tower balcony? Not Sybill Trelawney, that was for sure. An extensive collection of crystal balls and assorted divination mish-mash were scattered about. Four little chicks peered around the door while perching one on top of each other and balancing on my head.

"Play?" Trouble peeped the question.

"Shiny!" tweeted Nuisance.

"Food?" questioned Tangerine.

"Oooo, books!" Eggplant peeped.

Bird after my own heart— I so wanted to keep her. Think Fawkes or Calida would mind?

"Nope," Fawkes replied promptly, earning himself another peck from his mate.

"Insert food into hungry, open beak," Calida recommended. "Sit on at night to keep them warm. Try not to murder them when they wake you up before dawn."

Eggplant and her compatriots gave chastened peeps from atop my head. Busted.

I pondered if I should offer chick-sitting for a night or two, just to give poor Calida and Fawkes some relaxation time. Even my parents had been able to have that. Minerva always had a little time off when I was with Alastor and Amelia. Severus was always there too. It wasn't like there were phoenixes coming out of the walls to offer their kind assistance.

You know what this room needed? Feng-shui.

"Hey," I said to the chicks.

Four sets of black eyes stared at me.

"Want to help me… redecorate?"

Exciting peeping pointed towards a highly positive response.

Trelawney did seem to have a rather unnatural attraction to my poor, beleaguered master. Perhaps, we could help her with that, hrm?

My tails were vibrating as Eggplant used her tiny feet to massage my ears. Oh, yeah. I was _definitely_ keeping her.

_**Zap!** _

A giant obsidian sculpture of Severus stood in the middle of the classroom, complete with glowing crystal balls set at the statue's feet like an offering to the ancient gods. Amusingly, a certain vulpine stowaway was peeking curiously out of his robe pocket.

The chicks tore around the room, chasing crystal balls, raiding her fruit baskets, moving around her jars of classroom supplies. Eggplant was haphazardly reorganizing her books. Nuisance was stacking all of the crystal balls at the statue's feet. Trouble was happily swinging back and forth from the curtain cords. Tangerine was cleaning out the desk drawers and kicking everything she found into the fireplace.

Oh dear. What would Harry think of me now— enabling the next generation of phoenix youth to run rampant, joyfully destroying Trelawney's classroom and office? I really hoped that Harry— hell, _DUMBLEDORE_ — couldn't understand phoenix-speak.

"Nope," Fawkes answered me, his head crest rising high in amusement.

Nice to know my thoughts were so easily read like I hadn't studied Occlumency for a single day of my life.

I could hear Fawkes chuckling in my head.

Fawkes and Calida preened my ears together, and my eyes went crossed.

_**Zap!** _

Oh boy. Professor Trelawney was going to have a coronary.

Her entire classroom looked like an Arboretum. The ceiling was charmed to show the stars and planets. Heavily-laden grapevines were covering all the walls. Roman pillars had formed, making the entire room look like a Grecian temple. A crystal clear scrying pool surrounded the statue of Severus.

I suddenly had this vivid mental image of Professor Sinistra getting into a duel with Trelawney over the classroom while Lockhart chanted "Ode to Me" from a podium, only to be zapped off it by Alasdair Fraser who wanted time to demonstrate the finer arts of fiddle playing.

What the hell was going on in my head?

Just as I thought the room couldn't possibly be more messed up, hundreds of little floating foxfire will-o-the-wisps materialised over the scrying pool, accompanied by delicate wind chiming as they flew.

All of the little lintballs huddled around me and peeped imperiously to get me to lower myself enough so they could clamber back onto my back. Eggplant rushed forward to cling to the top of my head, peeping the Hogwarts' song melodiously.

I heard the jingle of keys in the lock, and I scrambled back out the balcony door, thinking really, really, really hard about being back at the phoenix nest.

_**Eeaguuhhh!** _

I was draped over the flower box nest, looking like a displaced fox fur rug. The chicks hopped down into the nest.

"That was fun!"

"Let's do it again!"

"I'm sleepy!"

"I'm hungry."

"I want to stay with you!"

Eggplant, clinging to my ears, refused to hop back down into the nest.

" _ **MY ROOOOOOOM! MY BEAUTIFUL ROOM! WHAT THE HE—"**_ the scream ended with the sound of Trelawney hurling her guts out off the side of her own balcony.

"Professor Trelawney, I heard you— _**MY WORD!"**_

"I didn't do it, I swear!" Trelawney cried.

"I'm quite sure you didn't," Dumbledore's bemused voice replied dryly. "Rooms every so often simply rearrange themselves with no provocation whatsoever."

"Well, this one _did_ _ **!**_ "

"Mmhhmm," the Headmaster's disbelieving voice tutted.

"Oh my— Headmaster, get out," Trelawney screamed. "I can't look at you right now! I just— _**URK!"**_

"I think you really should see Madam Pomfrey about that, my dear Sybill."

"I do not need to— _**URK!"**_

"I'm afraid I must insist," Dumbledore said firmly, brokering no refusal.

Trelawney clasped her hands over her mouth and ran out the door so loudly that I could clearly hear her tripping headlong down the stairs in desperate haste all the way from the opposite tower.

"Best pranks ever!" Nuisance crowed.

"Next time we prank Hagrid!" Trouble agreed.

Tangerine was already asleep.

Eggplant had surgically glued herself to my ears.

Fawkes and his mate returned, and they both settled on the nest.

"You get to keep that one," Calida said. "She's already bonded herself to you."

"Wha?" I replied.

"Congratulations," Fawkes said, warbling his approval.

Oh, Merlin. What had I gotten myself into now?

* * *

"Mr. Potter," Minister Fudge announced from his podium. "Due to the discovery of the official Potter family will while removing Dark artifacts and traps from number twelve Grimmauld Place, you are to be given a couple of different options. Since you were previously living with your blood family, you can choose to live with the guardian of your choice: you can remain with the Muggle Dursley family or you can go into the custody of Mr Remus Lupin, who was clearly voiced as Mr and Mrs James and Lily Potter's first choice for guardianship of yourself."

"Minister, this is hardly wise," Albus protested. "He is safe while living—"

"I'll stay with Remus!" Harry blurted. "Please, Merlin, right now! Today!"

The Wizengamot raised many a brow, rapping their knuckles on the desks to voice their clear agreement.

"Mr Dumbledore," Minister Fudge said. "We are not here to discuss whatever reason you think a magically-inclined young wizard should be living with Muggles who have made it more than clear that Mr Potter is not a welcome guest in their home. We are here to carry out the will of his parents, the details of which have been clearly noted on this parchment. Due to the rather peculiar circumstance of this will having been lost until now, he was not handed over to his parents' chosen guardian from the beginning— something which we _will_ be looking into soon enough."

"Now, Mr Potter," Cornelius continued. "Due to the manipulations of one Mr Sirius Black, Mr Lupin was forced into the situation of holding no permanent residence. Ms Black, however, has arranged for both Mr Lupin and you to live at number twelve Grimmauld for as long as you wish. In exchange, she asked only that you maintain general upkeep or make any improvements that would normally be done to a residence during the course of living there."

Harry's eyes went wide and he exchanged an excited look with Remus, who gave him a warm smile and a thumbs up from the seating area.

"Aurors have cleared the house as liveable," Cornelius said. "You are now permitted to move in whenever you are ready, Mr Potter."

"Mr Minister," Albus voiced, "number twelve Grimmauld Place as given to my keeping—"

"By Sirius Black, Mr Dumbledore," Cornelius reminded him. "But as Black was not the true heir, he had no right to do so. I would think, however, with the rising of the true heir, you would happy that there is one less place you need to take care of outside of your extensive duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I am sure, however, if there was some pressing need, such as having to make arrangements for a tenant you might have allowed to live on the premises, that you will be able to discuss such issues with Ms Black. However, any mention of the status and identity of Ms Black outside the confines of the Wizengamot, Aurors, and direct family will be in direction violation of the Oath of Confidentiality Need I say more, Mr Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore looked like he very much _wanted_ to say something, but he seemed to think better of it and remained quiet instead.

" _Chiiiirrrrr,"_ Eggplant yawn-chirped from my head, preening my ears. "Boring," she said into my mind.

I didn't blame her. Wizengamot meetings were boring even if you weren't a phoenix.

" _Mi!Mi!Mi!Mi!"_ Eggplant chirped, plainly trying to get my attention.

I cupped the chick in my hands, shushing her. Prepared for this by Fawkes and Calida, I stuffed her open beak with a gooseberry and, ironically, a slice of eggplant as well. She made mumbling and munching noises, now successfully distracted.

I untangled her foot band from my shirt, shaking my head. It was her version of an identification card. No one would think I'd stolen her or other such nonsense— no one was going to pry her off me without getting their eyes pecked out. She'd already given her trust to Minerva, Severus, Amelia, and even Alastor and the senior Auror crew, but heaven help you if you weren't on the "pre-authorised and approved" list in her little fruit-saturated head.

Phoenix beaks were bloody sharp!

Eggplant had nailed one of the scribes at the Familiar Registration Office and sliced his hand open with her can-opener beak, just because he'd tried to put the identification band on her leg without asking permission from me first. Poor guy. Thankfully, I kept a small tin of healing balm on me at all times.

Phoenix chicks were tiny fluffballs of pain and woe when they wanted to be.

The Wizengamot session was finally letting out, and Harry wasted no time in coming up and hugging Remus like nobody's business. I couldn't help but smile. Seeing him so happy— somehow made everything worth it.

I stood, and Amelia approached from her seat. "Hermione, how are you?" she said with a warm smile.

"These seats are overrated," I quipped. "I think I shall design a properly comfortable cushion for any future visits."

Amelia laughed. "I would hardly complain about that."

"Nor I," said Elphias Doge as he slowly shuffled by.

"Ms Black," Augusta Longbottom greeted, the distinctive vulture on her hat always made me want to whip out my wand and yell " _Riddikulus_!"

"Mrs Longbottom," I said, nodding my head fractionally.

"Good to see the seat of the Black family occupied once more," she said with a nod in return.

"Never thought I would ever be here," I confessed.

"We've heard very good things about you," Doge informed me with a smile. "Amelia speaks quite highly of you."

I flushed, accepting the praise while attempting not to make an idiot of myself in front of the Wizengamot. Seat or not, this was the single last place I wanted to perform a social misstep. I could only thank the gods above and below that unless I felt especially strongly about something, I should not need to make a public presentation on anything.

"You were in class with my grandson, Neville, yes?" Augusta asked. "Please, is his magic getting any stronger?"

Poor Neville. I had the feeling that his apparent lack of magical strength wasn't doing him any favours. That, coupled with his tendency to botch things the moment Severus so much as glanced in his direction made for rather poor school marks, at least in potions.

"He is doing better," I replied honestly. Hrm, I wonder if giving Augusta a subtle nudge could possibly help Neville? "His success seems directly linked to the level of support he is given. He did much better when I tutored him a little here and there. Once he gains enough confidence, his spells seem to become much stronger."

"Hrm, makes sense, Augusta," Doge said with a swift nod of agreement. "Some children just need that extra leg up."

Augusta sighed. "I suppose. It's just that I remember so much what Frank was like as a child. I feel like he should already be there by now."

I smiled a little. "I think we'd all admit that while we try to make our parents proud, sometimes we have no idea how to be ourselves while trying to get there."

Augusta snorted a laugh. "I like you, Ms Black. I think— I will heed your advice." She extended her hand to me, which I took, grasping it. "I find myself wishing Frank and Alice were well again— not for me as much as I would enjoy it— but for Neville. He needs a father and someone who can truly understand him. He needs a mother who can remember his name. I preach so often about what he isn't, but he's never seen him as I once did—"

She trailed off and then looked at me. It wasn't an unkind look. "I shall offer you some advice, my dear, if you are willing to take it. There are a great many here in the Wizengamot, and most tend only to their own wants. Rare is the one who stands up for the cause of another. Find one that you can and do so, and you will soon find yourself among allies instead of being faced with general indifference. One day, when you have a cause you greatly value, you may find someone does the same for you when you need it most."

I couldn't help but smile at Augusta. She truly was a well-meaning sort, wishing the best for me and even that of her grandchild. I could see she was strained, not just by the raising of her son's child at her age, but because both Frank and Alice had become trapped in a cruel sort of _un_ -life. Her taste in hats, however, was utterly atrocious.

"Thank you, Mrs Longbottom," I said grasping her hand firmly and clasping it with my other. "I will heed your advice. I hope things become less stressful for you." A rush of warm came over my hands.

Augusta frowned suddenly, staring.

"Did I say—?"

Augusta shook her head. "Sorry, dear. I— I must need sleep. I could have sworn I saw a pair of pointed ears on your head."

I arched a curious brow at her.

She laughed. "So sorry. I— I think I need get home and have a nice respectable cup of tea."

"Tea sounds excellent no matter the occasion," I mused.

Augusta smiled. "Have a good day, Ms Black. I look forward to when I can call you such outside of these halls."

Both she, Amelia, and Doge shuffed out, and the rest of the seats had emptied quickly.

"Mi, Mi!" Eggplant peeped.

"Hrm?" I replied. "What did you need, love?"

"Mi!"

"Uh huh," I replied, moving her to my shoulder where she promptly buried herself in my hair.

Her verbal vocabulary was harshly abbreviated. Mi was myself. Mam was Minerva. "Mmmm, mmmmm" was Severus, which I could only imagine was supposed to be "master." Alastor was "Al". Amelia had become "Bones." The headmaster was "Drop! Llll'drop!" Mrs Norris was dubbed "Norse," and Argus became "Arg". Remus was "Riiiii!" and "Mus, Mus, Mus." Harry became known as "Mmmmmop."

Much to delight of the Aurors, they taught her much as they had taught me, and Eggplant swiftly became adept at weaving in profanity and a few random words. Her best, so far, was, "mmmm, mmmmm God Save the Bones. Bloody Mmmmop get your hands off my Riiiiii! Drop! Drop! Llll'drop. Arg, fuck Miiii! I did'na do it, mmmm, mmmm, Mus, Mus, Mus. Bloody git! Pretty bird. Gimmie all 'ur froot! Miii!"

Her mind-voice was much clearer, thankfully. It was also far less embarrassing. It was odd how clearly she could mind speak and yet remain absolute rubbish at verbal communication.

Now that the session was over, I pulled off my hat, letting my ears wriggle free. Strange that Augusta had seen them. Most people didn't notice the ears or the tails. The ones who _did_ were of the type to trust, which made me think that there was something about Augusta that was worth paying attention to.

"Miiiiiiii," Eggplant chirped in my ear, seemingly satisfied.

Remus was crossing the chamber floor, rushing up to meet me. He smiled at me with a genuine warmth. Even before the debt between us, he'd always been a soft-spoken and kindly sort. A part of me had always wondered if he had truly cared as much as he said he did, why then did he not attempt to contact Harry before?

All of that had been answered with the extensive confession of Sirius Black, and while he and Harry were still having some difficulty believing it all, the truth was right there in front of them. I had no doubt whatsoever that had the truth geas not transferred to him via the touch of three Aurors, both my reputation and Remus' would currently be in utter shambles. Harry would either have been just as brainwashed as the Malfoys had been, or he would be dead just like his parents.

"It's really kind of you to do this for us," Remus said as gave a long, weary sigh.

I nodded. "Have you ever met the Dursleys?" I scoffed. "This is a true necessity."

Remus smiled. Some of the weight on his shoulders had finally been lifted away, but he was still going through a great deal thanks to the revelation of his best mate's dark motives. Even now, he and Harry had moments when they still couldn't believe it all. Harry would get frustrated and start yelling that it wasn't, that it _couldn't_ be true. Remus would get all withdrawn and depressed. Yet, they did have each other— and I intended to support them through it all. Harry deserved to live away from those horrible people. Remus deserved to have a life outside of being a werewolf— something he hadn't been free off since he had been a very young child.

Now that my ancestral home was no longer booby-trapped and filled with screams of abuse, there was plenty of room to share. Remus was more than willing to do anything and everything to renovate the house that Sirius had utterly trashed in exchange for a decent place to live. Kreacher was deliriously happy to have people to serve again— people who didn't kick him around. The house-elf seemed greatly relieved that the house was finally at peace again. Taking care of it, from his perspective, was just the icing on the cake.

On the other hand, I was still dealing with the baggage of my attempted rape. Stepping into Grimmauld Place was… difficult, even now that Kreacher was free to be himself and the portraits were no longer cursed and prevented from being themselves. Kreacher would often visit wherever I was, taking it upon himself to tidy my "home", which was really everywhere I was. Severus, Minerva, and I found find spaces dusted and tidy even more than the usual Hogwart house-elves did. I figured it was Kreacher's way of saying his own thanks for getting out of a terrible situation. Severus seemed to think they were having cleaning wars. Whichever house-elf cleaned the best, won.

What exactly they won, however, remained a mystery.

"Riiii!" Eggplant chirped.

Harry shuffled up, seemed to debate on something, and then gave me a tackle hug that practically squeezed the air out of my lungs. "Thanks, Hermione. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I'm having such a hard time believing it all. I really am."

He _did_ have reason, at least. I would never have seen myself as a multi-tailed fox before all this had happened. Harry had been so desperate to find that family connection, and well— Dumbledore had sincerely believed Sirius to be a good person. I think Harry was still coming to terms with the fact that even Albus Dumbledore could be fallible, and that realization was troubling him deeply.

"Mmmmmop!" Eggplant said to Harry. "Mmmm,mmmm, mmmmop!"

Harry scratched his head. "Even the baby phoenix recognises my hair," he said sheepishly.

I eyed the baby phoenix. "You know Harry's proper name, you silly creature."

"Mmmmmop!" Eggplant affirmed.

Harry slumped. "I suppose there are worse things to be called by a baby phoenix."

"Tosser," Eggplant replied. "Git. Git. Pillock. Prat. Mmmmmop!"

Harry busted out laughing. "I'll stick with Mop, I think."

"Dunderheaded imbecile," Eggplant affirmed happily.

I just couldn't help it. I laughed out loud. The little bird had been spending way too much time around my key people, and my key people didn't bother to censor themselves around a baby bird. She was a baby bird. What possible harm could it do?

I eyed Eggplant. Harm enough, obviously.

"Bampot!" Eggplant chirped. "Bassa. Bassa. Bassa. Rocket."

I stuffed a piece of eggplant into her beak, hushing her. She mumbled as she chewed on it, trying to break it down into more manageable pieces.

Harry was snorting laughter, and Remus wasn't far behind. His ears were turning red with effort to contain his chortling.

"Be careful what you say around her," I said, sniffing slightly. "You may soon come to regret it."

Remus held out a piece of peach, distracting Eggplant. She tore into it hungrily, making it disappear quickly. "Yer bum's oot the windae," she said, fluffing her miniature head crest. "Riiiii! Mus, muss, muss."

"It is indeed," Remus laughed.

I gave her another slice of eggplant, making sure it was larger to give her a longer project to work on. Poor Minerva. She could only hope that Eggplant grew out of it before she started carrying on in front of the students.

Everyone in Severus' class would end up in detention with points being taken off.

"May I hold her?" Harry asked, his eyes bright with hope. Poor Hedwig— she was being outdone by a potty-mouthed fluffy lint-ball.

"Sure," I said, putting my hand over Eggplant's feet so she'd step up. She transferred to his hand and talon-walked up his arm and sat on his shoulder.

"Mmmop!" she said, digging back into her food, but not until she had tried to stuff part of it into Harry's ear.

"Dumbledore disappeared," Remus said. "Strange, I thought— well, I thought he would at least come over and speak with us after."

I frowned. I wasn't sure _what_ Dumbledore's agenda was. He had been quite determined to keep Harry living with the Dursleys. Maybe it had at least something to do with safety, but I wasn't sure. One thing was for sure, after the incident at Grimmauld, "my" ancestral house was warded down as tightly as Hogwarts. Harry would be safe there, especially with Remus there to protect him.

Harry was totally enraptured by Eggplant, scratching her under the chin and across her back. She was soaking it all up like the little attention-sponge she was. I wondered what her siblings were doing back at the nest while she was rampaging around the world with me.

"Jealous," Eggplant said into my head. "They want their person too."

"What's stopping them?" I asked her. I mean, she'd obviously been young, and that didn't stop her in the slightest in picking me.

"I was lots quicker," she beamed into my head, proud of herself. "I wanted you first."

The idea that a nest of phoenix chicks were duking it out over bonding to me both amused and scared me. "Will they pick someone at the school?"

Eggplant gave a birdish shrug. "Maybe hop the nest and find you," she said, preening her wing. "Your tails are warm."

Hrm, so they liked me for my tails.

"Not _just_ your tails," Eggplant scolded me from her perch on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig is going to be so jealous," I told Harry.

Harry grinned. "Do you mind if we put a bunch of perches around Grimmauld?" Remus says Hedwig will feel more at home if she has places that are hers to perch on.

"I have no problem with it," I replied. "Hedwig deserves to feel at home here too."

Harry smiled warmly, visibly relieved.

"Harry," I said after a while.

He looked up at me, startled.

"I want you to be happy," I said. "I want you to feel you that have a home there. It's not going to go away. I won't be changing my mind if we have a fight, alright?"

Harry nodded and let out a slow sigh. "That obvious, was I?"

"Carve out a room and make it yours, Harry," I said. "And if you want, we can cut out the walls and ceiling of Sirius' old room and put in new ones. That way you can decorate it the way you want it. Short of being practically wallpapered with posters of scantily-clad women, it _is_ one of the better rooms in the house for size."

That idea seemed to appeal to him. I'd imagine having a hand in making a place completely your own would be something significant for Harry. Merlin knew the Dursleys never gave him a chance to take part in anything but stroking Dudley's ego. The stories Harry told us made me want to call the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children helpline number and get them into the boiling hot legal water they so desperately deserved. Then again, they had somehow managed to slip through the cracks of social services for so long, the chances of them being noticed now was pretty slim. It made me angry just thinking about it.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" peeped Eggplant. "Piss off!"

I coughed a laugh, pinching the little potty mouth's beak closed. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

**-Severus-**

For the first time, I entered number twelve Grimmauld Place and didn't feel Black's disgusting presence befouling everything in the house. Kreacher smiled and greeted me as I materialised, stepping out of the Floo so Hermione didn't crash into me. I felt her glide against me as she stepped out as well. Her long, dark robes— a mark of her station as my formal apprentice— brushed against my body as she moved around me.

The little purple phoenix chick warbled sweetly, flapping her wings as she saw Hedwig perched in the dim part of the room.

"Hoot."

"Weeeeg!"

They chattered at each other in a strange blend of avianese, and then they seemingly ignored each other, having apparently said all they needed to say.

Hermione passed Hedwig an owl nut, and she stroked Hedwig's breast feathers tenderly. The owl nibbled on her fingers affectionately, making a soft hoot of approval.

"Mmmm. Mmmmm. Miii!" the purple lintball protested from her shoulder. " _Kop dicht!_ "

Hrm, apparently the little fountain of profanity had been learning Dutch slang as well. It was quickly becoming obvious that she was an astounding mimic, but she had absolutely _**no**_ idea what most of what she was spewing actually meant. Even the things she did know she liked to smoosh together in a mish-mash of strange and inventive profanity. Hermione said she was quite polite, if overwhelmingly hungry all the time, but the little bird was apparently far less offensive when communicating mind-to-mind. For whatever reason, she at least warbled a more subdued tune around me— if one considered a hyperactive purple lint-ball with a propensity to stuff herself silly on fruit and then spout random verbal profanity to be in any way subdued.

Our visit to Grimmauld Place was mostly business. Hermione was clearly edgy about being in the house again, with even the slightest of possibilities that she might be left alone there for more than a minute. Visions of Sirius would pop into her mind and poof, she'd become a Kitsune again. While she wasn't exactly low functioning as a multi-tailed fox, communication tended to get a bit challenging, and if she happened to be delivering something, it could end rather tragically for whatever she might be carrying. We had come to Grimmauld to deliver the medicine for Potter and Lupin, who had managed to come down with a nasty case of wizard flu. Both of them were having random bouts of accidental magic every time they sneezed, and the harsh coughing tended to provoke some rather explosive gastric side effects. Thankfully, there was more than one loo in the place. Later, they would be thankful there was also more than one bath.

Both Lupin and Potter had been working hard to make Grimmauld look more "lived in" and "comfortable" instead of looking like a herd of rampaging trolls had done their best to trample the place. Black…. well, _Sirius_ Black, had done his best to completely trashed the place purely to spite his much-hated family. With his absence from the premises, the place had finally started to become more like a home again and all the negative energy seemed to be slowly fading away. Then, like a case of Murphy's Law, the pair promptly came down with the wizarding flu, making them quite useless to anyone.

Part of me argued that both of them were pretty useless even _before_ the wizarding flu, but I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and headed for the stairs.

A flurry of sneezing came from upstairs, and the portraits all tilted to one side. The painted people clung to trees, the frames, fireplaces, and other painted objects.

" _Ziek_!" Eggplant warbled. " _Strontziek_. _Ziek._ _Blijf uit de buurt!_ _Ziek!_ "

Hedwig hooted from her perch in the shadows, sounding like she was attempting to mimic the mimic. Her attempt came out something like "Zkkkk!" and "Ssssstskkk!"

Close enough. Owls weren't exactly known for their flawless mimicry.

" _Aubergine! Auber. Auber. Giiiiiiiiiiiii!_ " Eggplant chirp-warbled.

I raised an eyebrow. Somewhere, there was a Dutch-speaking Auror who was gifting the little phoenix with a fluent bilingual vocabulary. She certainly wasn't learning it from myself or Minerva.

Eggplant bobbed her head at me, looking in and out of Hermione's hair like she was hiding behind a curtain. " _Hou! Hou! Hou van mij! Mooie vogel! Fruit. Fruit. Fruit. Alsjeblieft. Hou van jou._ " she chain-chirped.

I narrowed my eyes at the little lintball.

She peered back at me with what could only be hopefulness.

I gave her a dried apricot.

She grabbed it and dove back under Hermione's hair, muttering, "Mmmm, Mmmmm. _Fruit. Dank je wel!_. Mmm. Mmmmm."

"She says thanks for the fruit," Hermione said, looking up the stairs to where Potter and Lupin had banished themselves in their illness. "She speaks better verbal Dutch than English."

"Where did she learn Dutch?" I asked.

"Dutch Auror from the Netherlands came in speak with Scrimgeour about filling a few of the open positions in Azkaban with some of his people," Hermione replied. "He took a real shine to Eggplant. I think she liked his accent. His name was Paul van Steeg , I think. He said it so fast."

Hermione looked at me apologetically. "Sorry."

I shrugged. The intercooperation between various DMLEs from foreign countries was relatively new. There were a lot of different names being flung about. Scrimgeour had apparently been tasked with making sure Azkaban's safety concerns was the number one priority for both staff and any "guests."

"Steeeeeeeg!" Eggplant proclaimed. " _Aardige vent_! _Geen eikel_! Steeeeg!"

I eyed Eggplant. She warbled at me, sticking her foot out.

I held out my fingers, and she stepped up, shuffling up my arm to fuss with my hair and settle on my shoulder.

"Mmmm, mmmm," she warbled into my ear, preening my hair.

Babies. Sheesh.

"Do I even _want_ to know what that last part was?" I asked.

"She thinks Auror Steeg is a nice guy and not a jerk," Hermione translated for me.

I snorted.

" _Vertrouwen! Vertrouwen_. Mmmm, Mmmm," the chick sang into my ear.

I stared at Hermione, eyebrow arched.

"She trusts you," Hermione chuckled.

"I'd hate to hear what she would've said if she disliked me," I confessed.

Hermione chortled. "Enough to make Alastor yell at everyone who was teaching her profanity."

I found that mental image amusing. You could yell at a person all day long, but yelling at a baby bird was not going to win you any battles, unless you wished to look the fool. In that case, by all means argue and yell at a baby lintball.

"Kweh! Kweh!" Eggplant warbled, proceeding to sing a merry up-tempo version of London Bridge is Falling Down.

"We should probably deliver the medicine before the portraits fall off the walls," I recommended, watching Kreacher attempting to right them all.

Another flurry of sneezes caused the portraits to scream and yell as they shook and tilted again. The walls shook with the force of it, and I righted the portrait nearest me as it careened to the right rather harshly. As much as I didn't want to say it—

"I'll take the potions up to Potter and Lupin," I said after a moment. "As much as I'd rather powerwash a naked Hagrid with _Aguamenti_ , I have a feeling both examples of the male gender would far prefer it was me staring at them in their sickbed."

Hermione looked at me with confusion and then slapped the sides of her face with her palms. "My age! Oh! I— Yes, of course." She gave me a somewhat frustrated look.

She had always been very mature for her age. Hell, she'd been far more mature than most of the witches _my_ age. She was definitely more mature and competent than Sybill Trelawney, not that it took all that much on that front.

"I'll go make them some soup," Hermione said. "Kreacher can keep watch on it and add other ingredients to it over the next few days. By then it'll be strong enough to beat the flu out of them." She grinned, her snow-white ears flicking back and pitching forward with a cheerful wiggle. Each of her tails was curled slightly on each end in a jaunty manner.

"Medicine and old-fashioned chicken soup?" I asked.

"Just like mum used to make," she answered, her eyes disappearing with her smile. "With a new Scottish bent, of course," she added. "Mam says leeks always make everything better."

"Hn," I replied. "Well, far be it from me to argue with Minerva McGonagall's tastes when it comes to a proper bowl of soup."

Hermione grinned and bounced off towards the kitchen, her tails swishing behind her.

Eggplant chirred as she left, beating the side of my face with her fluffy little wings. "Miiiii!"

"You're stuck with me for a little bit, Madam Lintball," I muttered.

"Mmmmm. Mmmmm."

As I climbed the stairs, Eggplant clung to my shoulder, digging her claws into my robes with a rather disturbing scraping noise. I could hear the sound of frantic chopping coming from the kitchen, which sounded so familiar after hearing her chop ingredients for potions for so many years.

I rapped my knuckles on the half-open door that looked as though it had seen better days.

A muffled groan of misery was my only answer.

"Mr Potter," I said, feeling my lip curl in an automatic response. "I have your medicine."

No response.

"I hope you are decent at least," I muttered, pushing open the door.

Decent was not how I would've described what I saw as I pushed open the door. Potter had somehow gotten tangled up in the curtains— no, not the bed curtains, the window curtains— looking like he'd been trussed up by an Acromantula. On the bright side, all of the scantily-clad posters of Muggle women and motorbikes were lying on the floor covered in copious amounts of— goo, and somehow the entire sodding mess had caught on fire.

"You've been spending way too much time with the likes of Messrs Finnigan and Longbottom," I observed, waving my wand to clean up that— whatever this was.

Eggplant made a rather disgusted cheep, cuddling closer to to my neck. She covered her beak with my hair as if she thought it would effectively shield her from the unmitigated horror of Potter's sickbed.

With a few well-placed _Scourgify_ spells, a certain amount of levitation, and a good deal of vanishing, Potter was cleaned up, attired in fresh pajamas, and placed back in bed with clean linens, the curtains were back on the wall where they belonged, the slimy posters were gone, and the bedroom window was opened for probably the first time ever since the day Sirius Black had come squalling into the world.

Eggplant highly approved of the fresh breeze, and, hell, I did too. It made me very grateful for Hermione's latest mastery project in conjunction with Madam Pomfrey: vaccination.

Vaccinations were very much a Muggle thing. Most wizarding folk wouldn't know the difference between a cold and a virus if it came up and bit them squarely on the arse. Hermione, however, thanks to her Muggle upbringing with a pair of dentists, understood the theory of immunology well enough. She had worked with Poppy for innumerable weekends, taking blood samples from people who were sick with whatever rampant disease was currently making the rounds. If it was a virus, which the wizarding flu most definitely was, she cultured it and devised a vaccine for it. Poppy was more than happy to support her efforts, and the results were being published in the St Mungo's Journal of Medicine.

What did that mean for me? Immunity to every bloody virus she had created a vaccine for. I was her favourite test victim. I knew perfectly well what vaccines were, so I wasn't someone she had to sit down, explain the process, explain the benefits, and so on and so forth. I, Minerva, Poppy, and Hermione herself were all "up to date on our shots" as the Muggles put it. It didn't mean we wouldn't get sick, but at least we weren't going to get a case of Mr Abernathy's Exploding Pustule Pox. Thank Merlin for _that_.

Hermione's biggest challenge at the moment, and she was working on it in conjunction with Madam Pomfrey and myself, was a delivery system that seemed "sufficiently magically normal" that ordinary wizarding folk would accept it. A person would drink a potion down without a second thought. Put them in front of a needle and they would be clinging to the ceiling screaming like you wanted to cut off their family jewels with a rusty handsaw.

I had recommended a good _Stupefy_ and just injecting it into their arm while they were passed out cold, but Poppy seemed to frown at my rather questionable bedside manner. There was a reason I hadn't become healer.

It was fortunate for Potter and Lupin that Hermione had her pet projects. It was thanks to her work that Poppy was able to send along some potions to help the two recover without blowing up the house. I put the potion to Potter's lips.

"Drink up, Mr Potter, unless you wish to descend into the throes of projectile vomit and explosive diarrhea on top of everything else."

 _That_ worked. The boy hurriedly drank the potion down without a second thought. Good boy. He conked out soon after, apparently feeling improved enough to actually sleep instead of attempting to sneeze the house down.

I let myself out.

Lupin was, thankfully, was rather less of a chore to administer to. He woke up long enough to take the potion, and he promptly passed out again. Good thing the house wasn't actually on fire.

As if to reinforce my opinion, Eggplant burst into flames, but the flames didn't burn. Instead she just oscillated from one colour of fire to the next through the entire spectrum.

"I didn't know you could do that, Madam Lintball" I commented to the little chick.

"Miiii," she warbled, fluffing up proudly.

After opening up Lupin's window to bring in some fresh air, and Merlin knew they both needed it, I left, descending the staircase with all due haste. I wanted as little exposure as possible to whatever disease, vaccines or no, and after cleaning up Potter from his sickbed-related mess, I didn't want that for sure.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, Hermione was already done with her flurry of vegetable cutting. Kreacher was standing over a pot of what smelled like an utterly divine soup stock, and he was tossing in ingredients as Hermione finished setting out the rest. It seemed they had come to an agreement that Kreacher could do what he wanted the most, which was to help, as long as he didn't Hermione to sit on her laurels and not want to do somethings herself.

"Miii! Mii!" Eggplant called, fluttering her wings.

She fluttered over to the rim of the simmering pot of soup, perching on the side. With a moment's panic, I started to lunge for her to save her from the heat, and then rational thought kicked in: phoenixes were immune to fire— heat in general.

Eggplant peered into the stewpot and warbled out a chain of imperious notes.

"Yes, Mistress," Kreacher droned. "There are plenty of vegetables to your liking." He held out a large piece of orange bell pepper, and the little chick snatched it happily, promptly making it disappear.

"How were they?" Hermione asked throwing in more ingredients into the stewpot.

"Potter was tangled in his curtains," I replied. "Lupin was barely conscious."

Hermione stared at me a little. "That's some wicked flu."

"Miii!" Eggplant interjected, fluttering her wings.

Hermione plucked the chick off the stewpot rim and snuggled her with her face before putting her back on her shoulder.

"Miiii," the chick cooed, closing her eyes blissfully.

"They'll probably be out of commission for a good week, even with the potions," I said with a sigh. "I just hope Potter doesn't infect anyone else and cause the entire school to have classes postponed for a week. People do not like having their summer holidays threatened."

"Far be it they don't like having their schooling threatened," she replied dryly, and she arched her brow in a familiar expression I recognised all too well— two parts Minerva, one part Moody, and one hefty serving of me.

"Miii!" Eggplant agreed.

"Indeed."

"Hrm?" Hermione asked, pondering where my train of thought was going.

"Good thing we did all of our preparation for the start of the year already," I said. "I would hate to have to do that while sick."

Hermione waved her spoon at me. "We shall not be sick, master."

"Spending time with Trelawney, are you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at me, oozing the sort of disdain that only Trelawney could inspire. "I already inoculated us against that particular strain of nasty. I checked it first thing when they started showing symptoms."

I arched a brow. Efficient. I'm not sure why I was surprised.

The Black kitchen was set up to accommodate Hermione's desire to cook, and she had expanded it to include a cooking hearth that was separate from the Floo hearth. Her reasoning was, especially after Moody had shown up in the middle of a Dutch oven full of sweet potato pie, that cooking and Flooing really needed to be kept separate. She had crafted a rather ingenious cooktop on the island that was cool to the touch, but when you put a pot on it, it heated it to whatever temperature she desired depending on what rune she traced on the surface. Even more useful was that it only heated cookware. If you put you hand down on it, it remained perfectly cool to the touch.

"You really should market this," I said, tapping the cooking counter.

"Already done, my master," Hermione chided me. "The Witch's Kettle in Diagon Alley has been contracted to be my main supplier of, how did they put it— enchanting essentials for the modern home."

I snorted. "I suppose it doesn't matter what they call it as long as it sells, hrm?"

Hermione gave me a smug smile. "Potage's Cauldron Shop and Slug & Jiggers Apothecary would like to contract a version specifically for potions, but I told them that you would have to approve anything involving potion-safe brewing surfaces."

"Oh?"

"They are willing to construct you the brewing setup of your dreams for your time," she said, a twinkle in her eye.

She knew how to get my attention. "Hn?" I replied, trying not to sound like a giddy child on Christmas morning.

"Of course, I told them it was up to you," Hermione continued, "but they seem to think you will be happy with the partnership."

The corner of my mouth twitched. "And how would they know what I would like?"

"Oh," Hermione said with a shrug. "I may have given them a few pointers."

She gestured to a brown paper parcel on the counter.

I narrowed my eyes and tentatively tugged on the twine.

The bundle came undone easily, and out rolled a cobalt jar, tinted just enough to make identification of the contents impossible. I looked up Hermione with a suspicious look.

She gave me my own arched eyebrow in reply. I had no one to blame but myself for that one.

I picked the jar up and opened the latch, and the lip popped open. The scent of strong— was that? Holy mother of Merlin.

"Dragon saffron?" I whispered, as if my voice would make it disappear. There was at least two-hundred grams of it in the jar— their brilliant purple stigmas heavy with the rare magic the flowers absorbed from the areas they lived in: the domain of dragons. The flower was rare, impossible to culture unless you had dragons around, and equally hard to harvest because of said dragons. A gram of it was worth more than most people made in a year.

"Hrm," Hermione said. "I wonder how they would know you've been looking for that for the last decade. Maybe they hired a Diviner."

I slowly closed the jar, set it down, and closed my eyes. A swell of emotion rose within. I could barely stand it. There was enough saffron in this jar to last me lifetimes of potions.

"Yip!"

My arms were suddenly filled with Kitsune, and the little multi-tailed demon was snuggling into my chest and bumping her head against my chin. There was nothing more I could do. I wrapped my arms around her, burying my nose into her fur and closing my eyes. "You marvelous little creature," I whispered. "You still have to sit your N.E.W.T.s."

The little Kitsune gave me a lick under the chin and set her tails a-waving. Somehow, I don't think she was bothered at all.

"Miiiii," Eggplant cooed from rim of the cooking pot. She fluttered her wings and let out a string of happy notes, filling our hearts with joy.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

* * *

 **A/N** : Eggplant is a lintball on a mission! She also swears like a sailor. She's so adorable. ROFL!

* * *

Translations for the Dutch-impaired (I don't judge! Dutchgirl01, however, well, might want to butter her up with some Jolly Ranchers):

 _Ziek_ : Sick

 _Strontziek_ : sick and tired is the actual translation. The literal meaning is akin to animal shite. Isn't language wonderful?

 _Blijf uit de buurt!_ : Keep away!

 _Aubergine:_ Eggplant

 _Hou van mij_ : love me

 _Mooie vogel_ : pretty bird

 _Fruit alsjeblieft_ : fruit please

 _Hou van jou_ : love you

 _Dank je wel:_ Thank you

 _Aardige vent_ : Nice guy!

 _Geen eikel:_ Not a jerk

 _Vertrouwen_ : Trust


	4. Sickness and Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for

**A/N:** Sometimes Life says, "Nope, you have other things to do."

For the record, I don't _ever_ abandon my work. I can't say that plot lines inspire always to the end over a given time, but I don't abandon them. I saw this story marked as "abandoned" on a tumblr and could only shake my head. If you write, you'll understand why this both amused and depressed me while also, ironically, gave me less inspiration. Life gets busy. I thank those of you who have always been patient and understanding of my muses.

**Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose and Dutchgirl01

**Warning** : Foul mouthed lintball.

* * *

**Nine Tails of Retribution**

**Chapter 4**

**Sickness and Health**

_There is one consolation in being sick; and that is the possibility that you may recover to a better state than you were ever in before._

~ Henry David Thoreau

* * *

**-Harry-**

I woke up. That was unexpected. I honestly hadn't expected to survive this horrid disease that had taken ahold of my body and ravaged it into paste. Now that I was awake, however, I was feeling quite human again. Better yet, I was no longer sneezing the house into shaking thanks to bursts of accidental magic. I really didn't want to be responsible for destroying Hermione's ancestral home.

Wow. Ancestral home.

My godfather was a pureblood supremacist and a Dark wizard. I had lost what I had thought was my greatest link to my parents in life, but the harsh reality was that I had never really had it to begin with. Sirius Black—my father's best mate—had never really existed. But Hermione, Merlin, she was the true heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black. Remus said that made her family. Real family. Like most pure-bloods, all of them were related in some way. The Potters were no different before they were outcast from the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

I had family. Real family—right in front of my nose for the last five years. And I had treated her like—

I closed my eyes in shame. I had treated her _horribly_. In my desperate quest to find a "real family" I had shunned her in my anger, blaming her for not responding to my owls and keeping in touch when I really needed her to. Yet that, too, had been a lie. Remus had finally taken the jinx off Hedwig, saying it was a rather nasty piece of work to hijack an owl, forcing her to deliver all of my outgoing mail to Sirius first.

All this time, every single piece of mail I had ever sent out had been read by Sirius Black. My heart, my thoughts, my anger—all of it—had gone straight to him, telling him _exactly_ how to manipulate me. Hermione had said she hadn't received more than one or two letters from me, thinking I just didn't give a flying fig about writing, but the truth was I had sent weekly letters, detailing how lonely it was for me the Dursleys. After a while, I stopped writing, thinking she just didn't care enough to write me back.

And Sirius—who somehow managed to get everyone to trust him—remained blissfully unsuspected, slowly turning me against my own friends. Herding me into his perfect cage of anger and hatred that "only he could truly understand." He had even driven Remus away, using his status as a werewolf to shame him into hiding, too afraid to contact me lest he endanger me with his violent, uncontrollable, tortured inner wolf. After seeing the wrathful change here under the roof of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, I had already forgiven him his fears. He had lived with that simmering under his skin for longer than I'd been alive. Thinking about it, I realized I would have banished myself too.

Remus and I had managed to have quite a few long and interesting talks while renovating Grimmauld Place, at least, we had before we both came down with the wizard flu. Now, Hogwarts was only a week away, and I felt like I just wasn't ready for that. For the first time ever, I found myself wishing that I had a little more time before I had to go back to school.

I looked over to where Hedwig normally perched and found her preferred spot empty. After sneezing her off her perch a few times and covering her with snot, I didn't blame her in the slightest.

I decided to do my best to feel human again by taking a long, hot shower, brushing my teeth, and even gargling. Magic was wonderful, but nothing beat a real honest-to-goodness deep-cleansing shower, or if time allowed, a proper bath. Apparently someone had cleaned up after me because the bathroom was utterly pristine, absolutely spotless, with no evidence whatsoever of my recent illness. The seat to the toilet was down—which might have meant that Hermione did it.

Oh gods. Hermione… cleaning up after—

Please, please, let it have been Kreacher.

How _embarrassing_.

Males, you have to understand, are not always the most cleanliness-conscious of creatures. Not all of us are useless layabouts, mind you, but when you go to a magical school where things always get picked up for you, and your home life up until that point had been all about cleaning up after everyone else, I uh—okay, I admit it, I was a lousy skiver.

It wasn't that I didn't have a clothes hamper or had T-rex arms to make me incapable of using it, but I felt like for once in my life I could drop my socks on the floor in my own room—my own _ROOM!_ —and not have bloody Vernon trying to shove me up against the wall with his bloated gut as he spit in my face in his frothy anger. Some people rebel by wearing leather, smoking, or doing drugs. Me? I was just a typical indolent teenage bloke.

Indolent? Where had _that_ word come from? It must have been something Hermione called me when I wasn't really paying attention.

To be fair, I wasn't lazy about everything, but lately I felt like I had some wild hare (and I do mean the long-eared, chased by a fox kind) up my arse, and I just had to say no to everything and everyone.

I could see Hermione's lip curl slightly, rather unnervingly like Snape's. She'd have her hands on her hips as she rolled her eyes. "Really, Harry. You're a teenager, but you don't have to act like the stereotypical example of one."

Now that Hermione was most decidedly _not_ a teenager, my mental image of her was even more off. She'd gotten as far as puberty, had skipped over most of being a teenager and had gone straight on to becoming a mature adult. If anyone could have become an adult and take it in stride way before her time, it was Hermione. Still, seeing her there—that tall, porcelain, raven-haired vixen—and then imagining that same gorgeous witch scrubbing the floors and cleaning the bathroom just made me feel like a horrible example of a human being.

Once I had gotten my hygiene in order, I put on some fresh clothes and walked down the stairs. The portraits grunted greetings as I went by, and blessed be to all the gods, Walburga was not screaming for once. Come to think of it, she hadn't screamed at _all_ since Sirius was arrested .

Something smelled absolutely wonderful, and my nose seemed to have a direct communication line to my eager stomach. My stomach growled loudly in protest of its current empty status. Alright then. First things first: breakfast, lunch, or whatever it was time for.

A bowl of soup was sitting out on the counter with a stasis charm over it. I would've left it, thinking someone would be coming back for it, but there was a small card leaning against it with "Harry" written on it in overly neat handwriting that simply screamed Hermione. Well, then. Don't mind if I do.

When I had first come to Hogwarts, I had thought the food there was the ambrosia of the gods. I had believed that it was conjured from thin air by some divine form of culinary magic. After a rather long lecture from Hermione about basic Transfiguration laws, I had learned that food did _not_ just simply appear out of nowhere. However, the magic of that singular moment when that glorious food touched my tongue for the first time—was nothing compared to the taste of this amazing homemade cock-a-leekie soup. Move over barbeque chicken wings, ginger newts, and treacle tart. This soup was the ambrosia of the gods made form. I could taste the love in the making of it.

"Apprentice Black will be happy to know you're enjoying her soup," a low, baritone voice rumbled, setting the hair on the back of my neck standing up straight.

Professor Snape glided in like a dark spectre, which I was beginning to think was an inborn talent of his, and dished up a bowl of soup for himself. To my horror, he sat down at the counter and began to eat. I sat there, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, staring speechlessly at my Potions professor calmly dipping into his soup like he was a huge saltwater crocodile in the middle of the only watering hole for miles around.

"Your soup is getting cold, Potter," he said in between spoonfuls of his own soup.

"I—uh, yeah," I stammered, staring down at my soup bowl.

"We are not in class," Snape commented quietly. "You are not in my classroom. That is not a cauldron of scalding hot half-finished potion, and it's not going to blow up if you stir it the wrong way. Contrary to popular belief, I don't really care how you eat as long as you don't cover me with it."

I kept staring at him like a complete idiot. He lifted his head, arching his brow at me. It was like a sudden jolt of electricity, and I felt compelled to eat faster and stare at something, _any_ thing else.

There was something I really needed to get off my chest.

_Don't be an idiot._

_Don't be an idiot._

"Why do you hate me so much, sir?" I blurted. God damn it all, that was _NOT_ what I had wanted to say!

_Good job, brain. If he hexes you into next month with a broken neck, it'll be your own bloody fault._

Snape's spoon clanked against the china bowl, and I wasn't looking at his face. I knew—felt it in my bones—that he was going to bite my head off and somehow make my life a living hell for it.

"I do not hate you, Mr Potter," he replied.

Wait. Back up. My mind desperately wished for instant replay in real life. "Uh… wha?" I managed. Brilliant, Harry. Way to express your intelligence and prove that you're not a total dunderhead.

"I greatly dislike your propensity to throw yourself into danger like a bull charging at a moving target, brazenly thinking you are correct, and then somehow miraculously surviving increasingly mindblowing acts of stupidity that are akin to Wile. E. Coyote from Looney Toons."

I, uh… well, he really did have me there.

Three-headed dog, a near-fatal chess game, breakneck broom-back key fetching, death by disgustingly putrid troll stench, firewalls, and some creepy guy named Voldemort attached to my stuttering DADA professor's head—and that was just my first year! Second year was a homicidal basilisk on a mission, the murderous ghost of Tom Riddle, almost dying due to the efforts of said snake—that was year two. Each year to date had amazingly become even worse, and while I could at least argue that the Goblet of Fire was not my fault in the slightest, there were such stunning examples of Gryffindor idiocy such as throwing myself in front of a rampaging werewolf, almost getting my soul sucked out by Dementors, throwing rocks at myself and nearly giving myself a concussion, and—yeah, ok, he really _did_ have a point.

Instead of waiting for Molly and Arthur to get back, Ron and I had hijacked the family's flying car, got ourselves seen by Muggles, and then crashed into the Whomping Willow only to have the thing go feral and try to kill us. A bit later it saved us from giant man-eating spiders and then kicked us out on our arses and left us in the dirt again. Sure, Hagrid _did_ tell us to follow the spiders, but who was more the fool there? The fool who told a bunch of firsties that it was perfectly safe to go searching the Forbidden Forest in the middle of a night for a unicorn killer or us for believing him?

Hogwarts was supposedly the safest place in wizarding Britain—and yet I and Ron had somehow always ended up finding all the unsafe places to be. Hell, even Hermione had been petrified trying to get us a message about the basilisk, got herself turned into an anthropomorphic cat, and—

Professor Snape really _did_ have a point. There hadn't been any point where the thought "Hey, this is really dangerous, I should go talk to an adult" had ever crossed my mind. To be fair, Hagrid had been the one to send us out in the Dark Forest looking for unicorn bandits—scared kids running around the forest in the dark. Nothing could _possibly_ go wrong.

Riiiight.

Professor Snape sighed. "I am not a kind man, Mr Potter. My experience with such things has been few and far between. I do, however, know my potions, and I know when you have studied the material and when you have been slacking about and had Miss Black "help" with yours and Weasley's homework. I expect each and every student to do precisely as they have been instructed—and entirely on their own unless otherwise indicated. Yet, of all of my students, it seems that you, Messrs Finnigan, Weasley, and Longbottom have the worst comprehension of basic verbal instructions of your entire year. Much like a child running out into traffic and being hit by a car, once you blow yourself up, there is no coming back from that. By some stroke of luck, none of you have managed to lose fingers or an eye, and I believe that is only because of Madam Pomfrey's exceptional skill as a mediwitch—not for your lack of trying."

I heard Professor Snape sigh deeply as he finished the last of his soup. He stood up and began to wash his dishes, the Muggle way, in the sink. He plunked the clean bowl and silverware into the drying rack and leveled me with a gaze. "Here, outside of Hogwarts, Lupin gets to be responsible for your own _lack_ of responsibility, Mr Potter. At Hogwarts, it is my job to insure you don't kill yourself or anyone else on my watch. And for every second I spend catching you wandering the halls after curfew, getting yourself into trouble time and time again, I assure you, I would far rather have been relaxing in my bed."

I thought back to when Professor Snape had been so calm in the garden, when he had left me there rather than yell at me after I had lost my cool over believing Sirius over Hermione, and again when he had talked Hermione down from murdering Sirius in cold blood. I focused on that—the supposed Dark wizard Death Eater that would prefer to watch you die slowly rather than lift a finger to help—and I realised that the man I thought I knew was far more complicated than I had ever imagined.

"Can't trust him, mate," Ron's voice rang in my head. "Bloody Slytherins. There hasn't been a wizard gone bad that wasn't from Slytherin."

Except that there _were_ people "gone bad" from other houses, including Gryffindor. Two of them were directly involved in the death of my parents. Just because you were Slytherin did not automatically make you an evil person.

Unless the people around them made it so they _believed_ they had to be.

If everyone believed you would be the next rising Dark Lord, then was it really any surprise when you eventually came to believe it and then it became a self-fulfilling prophecy?

And speaking of self-fulfilling prophecies—

What if this prophecy I was entangled in was just some made up pipe dream and it was coming true simply because everyone believed it would?

I didn't really _feel_ like anyone special. I wasn't nearly as brilliant as Hermione. Sure, I was a Seeker at a really young age, but was that the kind of thing that could win a battle against a powerful Dark wizard like Voldemort? Okay, the snitch is out in ten seconds. First wizard who catches it wins the war… _**GO!**_

If only.

_**Badump. Dadump. Badumdumdump.** _

The skitter of claws on the floor and mad peeping came to my attention as one aubergine purple phoenix chick clung to the top of a many-tailed Kitsune's head as she went tearing around the corner at full tilt, slid across the kitchen floor, and scrambled out the far door. I listened only to hear the sound getting closer again, and this time she was running full tilt into the kitchen's new sliding glass door that had been Remus' pride and joy.

_**FWOOOP!** _

Suddenly, Kitsune and phoenix chick were out in the garden, tearing up the path between the rose bushes, tails a-waving in wisps of fire. They had just blinked through the door.

A low, rumbling laugh startled me out of my chair. The sky was falling. The world was ending. Merlin, save us all. Snape was actually— _laughing_?

Professor Snape let himself out onto the patio, laying back in the reclining outdoor chair as he pulled out a book to read. Part of me was screaming, "Hey, who does he think he is! This isn't _his_ house!"

I realised, though, that this house actually belonged to Hermione, and Professor Snape was her master. He was also the potion brewer for the Order. Hermione opened the doors to let the Order remain here. Hermione had arranged for Remus to have a place here so I could, in turn, have a place away from the Dursleys.

She _trusted_ him.

Whether I could wrap my mind around it or not, the truth was staring me right in the face.

" _ **YIP!"**_

_Flomp. Scramble. Claw. Claw. Flop._

The little white fox with multiple tails was curled up in Professor Snape's lap, sprawled on her back, paws in the air, tails swishing, with a fluffy phoenix chick perched on her belly.

Professor Snape idly rubbed her ears as he continued to read.

"Miiii," Eggplant cooed.

Hermione said Eggplant was a rebel, and her name not being Aubergine was just one more testament to her obstinance.

"Hrrrh _ **yip!**_ "

"Hn," Professor Snape replied, flipping the page to his book.

"Merlin, _please_ tell me there is some of whatever I smell left," Remus groaned as he entered the kitchen. He was wearing nothing but his boxers—boxers with a charmed wolf chasing a stag across the front and back, diving through the trees and bushes.

I stared up at him—and his very Marauder-esque boxers.

"I woke up with them on, and all of my clothes were missing," Remus protested, leveling a gaze at me like it was somehow _my_ fault.

" _ **I**_ didn't do it!" I swore, waving my hands frantically.

He stared back at me like I usually stared at Fred and George. I knew that expression very well. It spoke of disbelief and a strong desire to let loose a few choice hexes.

Remus, however, had decided that food was far more important than glaring me into submission, and he was stuffing his face just as fast as humanly possible.

"Mmmmerlinthisis _sooooo_ good," he moaned in ecstasy between large spoonfuls. His eyes sort of rolled back into his head and then he lazily blinked at me. "Nothing tastes as good as food after starving yourself while you've been sick for days."

I chuckled at him as he dished himself up another bowlful.

"If being human means getting sick on occasion I will happily take it to being a werewolf," Remus said with no small amount of relief. "You're always so hungry before and after. Worst thing—the smell of people makes you even hungrier."

I shuddered. Remus' violent werewolf self had been clearly ready to commit murder. I couldn't imagine living with that for so long—just under the skin, waiting, hungering, gnawing at your insides.

"He's not as bad as we've been trained to think, Harry," Remus said, staring out on the patio as he cleaned his dishes in the sink. "No matter how bad we had it between us back then, that stupid schoolboy rivalry, he didn't deserve to be almost murdered by me. Your father saved him that night. Warned him before he walked right into my jaws. For a while, your father started to wise up, get less angry, torment Severus less. I see now why he went back to being—well. All that time, our best mate was really our worst enemy."

"Severus and I—" Remus trailed off. "We have a lot of dirty laundry to air out, but you don't have to fight your way through as much history, Harry. Just remember, that man out there, right now, is the _real_ man, and more people would have known this had it not been for people like your father and myself, Peter, and Sirius. We all had a hand in it. Willing or not. Knowingly or not."

I looked up, biting my lip slightly as I tried to process it all. "That's quite a lot to take in," I said after a while.

Remus smiled. "I know, Harry," he replied, "but look at them and tell me you don't see the kind of trust we can only wish we were lucky enough to have instead of the pack of lies from the ones we only _thought_ we could trust."

I stared out into the back garden. Somehow, in the last few minutes, the entire back garden had been transformed into a very inviting-looking hot spring complete with a tumbling waterfall. Professor Snape was floating on a reclining seat in the middle of the steaming water with a Kitsune sprawled out in his lap and a happily warbling phoenix chick nestled into his hair. There was just enough tree cover to provide adequate shade for the springs that kept the mid-summer sun from baking down upon the pool.

"I think I know why I woke up like this!" Remus exclaimed, striding towards the door.

"But—your boxers!" I protested.

"These aren't boxers, Harry," Remus said with a wink. "They're my swimming trunks."

I watched Remus climb onto a bright blue and yellow pool pony, floating half in and half out of the water.

I—

I just—

Oh, bloody hell!

I stormed upstairs to get my own swimming trunks on. I was so _not_ going to get left out of fun in our brand new hot spring pool!

* * *

Time flew by, even more quickly than before, and it seemed like I had only just recovered from being sick when I suddenly found myself back at Hogwarts again, staring up at the head table and wondering what on Earth was going on. Hagrid apparently had been sent off on some sort of secret mission with Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons (thank you Extendable Ears™) and wasn't coming back "any time soon."

Someone named Professor Grubbly-Plank was filling in for Hagrid, and a squat pink monstrosity of a witch named Dolores Umbridge was teaching DADA. She was also the Undersecretary for Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, but I had no real idea what that meant. Did it mean you were under all the other secretaries? She sure didn't act like it.

Ron was being extra cranky because Percy had apparently cut off all contact with his family contact due to me—stating that all the talk about Voldemort being alive was nothing more than a load of rubbish. While Ron really didn't care all that much about Percy, his distraught mother had apparently poured down over all her family like a monsoon of acid rain, making all of them completely miserable.

Oddly, the Aurors had recently caught a pair of Dementors hanging about in my old subdivision, and they had attacked the Dursleys, leaving Dudley in the hospital along with three of his friends—they had been using my old room as a gaming room and that was where the Dementors had found them. Aunt Petunia had arrived home just in time to find them all passed out cold on the floor, the room filled with a strange, cold mist and a rather eerie glow. Her frantic screams, or so she said, caused the room to heat back up and all the strange, glowing mist to disappear.

Muggle law enforcement were called out to investigate the incident and a group of government scientists blamed the strange event on an excess of cell signal towers, paranoid people blamed the government, and Vernon Dursley was caught on the telly yelling "The bloody _**freaks**_ did this! It's all because of those pointy hat-wearing, stick-waving _**FREAKS!**_ "

That, of course, brought an entirely different sort of law enforcement team in to check things out—the kind with wands. Uncle Vernon's mad antics resulted in the police hauling him off to a hospital for a psychiatric evaluation after he started kicking every neighborhood cat in sight, loudly accusing them of being "freaks in disguise". Couldn't have happened to a more deserving bloke.

Dumbledore's attempt to get me back with the Dursleys "for my own safety" fell through epically after the news broke about Dementors being discovered hanging about in Little Whinging. Alas, the Aurors could only confirm sightings and trace them back to the Ministry. They could not, however, trace precisely who had sent them. As soon as the news hit the _Daily Prophet_ , all sightings of Dementors in the public suddenly disappeared, making an already suspicious situation even more so.

The Office of the Minister for Magic was still proclaiming that Voldemort was dead and I was nothing more than a lying drama-monger—a deeply disturbed little boy who was desperate for attention. Anyone who truly knew me would have known that the single last thing in the world that I wanted was _more_ attention. There was, unfortunately for Minister Fudge, the small matter of one Gertrude Bumworthy, who had abducted and confined Rita Skeeter to a cellar in Ottery St Catchpole for the last decade—who said she was working under orders. There was a whole slew of newly convicted Death Eaters, all complete with Dark Marks who were singing like canaries about all their exploits and the status of their Dark Lord being very much alive. All of them had been "infected" with a truth-telling geas that seemed to be tailored specifically for those wearing the Mark.

Coincidence?

I think not.

Then, there was Sirius, who had happily if not gleefully spilled his guts about everything he had done since he tricked the hat into Sorting him into Gryffindor. There were bloody mountains of evidence in my favour. The Minister and Madam Umbridge, however, seemed utterly convinced that it was "all too convenient."

_What?_

Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood, was having a fine old time publishing all sorts of pot-stirring articles wondering why the Ministry continued to insist that Voldemort was dead, discounting any and all evidence to the contrary. They had articles about Dumbledore, too, thanks to the Ministry trying to fling mud at him as well for "having lost his mind" and "no longer being fit to run a school."

That was really why Umbridge was here—to keep Hogwarts in line.

Only, she was having a horrible start of it at Hogwarts. The moment she stood up and attempted to speak, the owl on the podium proceeded to attack her, the napkins all swarmed her face, and all the meatballs on the nearby dinner tray leapt up and tried to force feed themselves to her. She had to be rushed to the hospital wing, her face and pink cardigan splattered liberally with pasta sauce, for forcible extraction of said meatballs.

Later, while we were in back in our dormitories, the prefects sent word that old Filch was posting some sort of Educational Decree stating that owls were no longer permitted in the Great Hall. Later, we heard loud shrieks emitting from the vicinity of the hospital wing as every single owl from the Owlry came to perch on and around her bed, glaring at her. Hedwig returned to me shortly after the screaming finally stopped, looking terribly pleased with herself.

The next morning, said educational decree was nowhere to be found, having seemingly flown off by itself.

Umbridge spent the next four hours screaming at Filch for daring to take down her decree, and for once in our lives, the students saw something that inspired more ire in the old squib caretaker than even Peeves himself. As if sensing that there was something he could do that no one was going to complain about, Peeves made it his personal mission in life, death, er... whatever he was, to torment Umbridge in every way possible.

On the first day of class, she was late after somehow getting stuffed into a suit of armour. Someone gave Peeves access to the Divination Tower, and all the crystal balls came rolling down the stairs every time she tried to go up (or down) them. She then banned crystal balls from the school and grounds, royally pissing off people like Lavender and Parvati, who really looked forward to their Divination class every year.

"I don't want to be stuck reading ruddy tea leaves all term!" Lavender complained bitterly.

Once the crystal balls had been locked up in a cage inside her office, Umbridge found herself being followed by rolling rocks of all shapes and sizes. Whenever she stopped moving, the rocks would roll over her feet, breaking her toes. She then banned rocks from Hogwarts.

"She _does_ realise that this is a castle made of stone, yeah?" an incredulous Fred asked George.

"I don't think she's really thinking about anything at the moment, bro," George replied.

Hogwarts, the next day, seemed to be in almost an amused mood, as every wall shifted into a stunning collection of bricks made up of precious gems and metals. Gryffindor was constructed of ruby and gold, Hufflepuff had onyx and topaz, Slytherin had emerald and silver, and Ravenclaw had sapphire and black pearl. And as if to mock her even more, the Great Hall was constructed of tourmaline and flawless rose quartz. Dumbledore's office had broken out in amethyst, and from the chatter at the High Table, every office had taken on new and interesting characteristics—all in gemstones and precious metals.

Umbridge's office, however, looked like the inside of the foulest of sewers, and it came with a horrendous odour to match. She demanded that she be moved, the headmaster duly had her things moved, and she woke up the next morning in the same smelly surroundings. Hogwarts, apparently, had an exceedingly low opinion of her.

What was even more comical—if anyone other than her came to visit, the room would be pristine, comfortable, and seemingly constructed out of a lovely mahogany wood. Comfy overstuffed chairs would appear, an exquisite goblin silver and bone china tea service would pop in via elf, and an inlaid wooden floor the likes of which the Queen herself would have envied would bless the floor.

" _ **Cornelius!"**_ she was heard whining to the Minister. "Come look at this _**awful**_ room they put me in!"

"Well, I'm not sure if those pink kitten plates really go with the mahogany furniture, Dolores, but this room is really quite spectacular. It's even better than the Headmaster's Office," he said, rubbing his chin. "By the way, did someone accidentally transfigure the school into gemstone and precious metal?"

This was all during the course of her first month at Hogwarts, and it seemed to be getting steadily worse. Her sanity, if whatever she had could legitimately be described as such, was definitely suffering.

One day, she passed out a stack of books for us to learn her brand-new "Ministry-approved" DADA lesson plan, told us to read passages from it, but all the pages had mysteriously gone blank. She tried again the next day, having shipped in a new set of books, and all the pages, save her own copy, had some rather scandalous photographs of herself with Minister Fudge—disturbingly, Minister Fudge was wearing a frilly French maid's uniform while Dolores herself sported a horrifying hot pink leather dominatrix outfit.

Of course, when Fudge came in to look over the books, they were all painfully dry and boring reading.

"Dolores, are you sure you're quite up to this?" Fudge asked, visibly concerned. "These books look perfectly fine to me."

Sadly, the books remained as boring as ever after that event, but something even more interesting happened: Umbridge gained her very own soundtrack.

Everywhere she went, music followed her. Stalking, whimsical, angry, stormy, funny, suspenseful, or some combination thereof—you could literally hear her coming and instantly know what mood she was in. One time a butterfly flew in the window while she was teaching, and her normal ominous grating music turned whimsical and happy—until she smashed it with her hand. The music immediately changed to the shower scene music from _Psycho_ and then switched to _Chopin's Funeral March_. Only the Muggleborns and those Muggle-raised seemed to appreciate the irony and recognise the soundtrack for what it was.

We could always tell when she was skulking around the hallways looking for trouble. The _Jaws_ theme always started playing. It must have frustrated her to no end not being able to catch anyone doing anything out of line. It was like an early warning system for mischievous students.

"I don't think she can actually hear it," Seamus commented gleefully as he stuffed his face with fish and chips. "She doesn't seem to realise we can hear her coming."

Best of all, perhaps, was the theme from _Top Gun_ that would play whenever the owls started their "air raids" on Umbridge. They would even "buzz the tower" to make her spill tea all over herself.

Finding no miscreants to punish, the pink-clad, toadish woman set her gaze upon the faculty, and that was when things went decidedly pear-shaped.

* * *

_**-Hermione-** _

"Hallo, Tails," the little witch cooed, picking me up and cuddling me without a second thought. "Come to keep me company?"

_Oof. Can't breathe._

She stopped squeezing me, and I panted heavily. I was getting used to the treatment. Most people thought I was "Professor Snape's familiar." I didn't mind. My nickname had become Tails for obvious reasons. Even though they could see my Kitsune form, very few saw my ears and tails when I was human, but I suppose that was a good thing. I had enough scrutiny between the recent changes to my appearance and being Professor Snape's new apprentice.

The little witch pet my tails and rubbed my belly, which was always greatly appreciated. My true weakness, perhaps—well, that and food. I'd always admonished Ron about stuffing his face at all times, but I was _always_ hungry. Alastor said it was because I was channeling a lot of magic all the time. Charming Aurors out of their sandwiches, however, that was a game I never quite grew tired of. I licked my lips. Especially when someone had turkey. Mmm, turkey.

I'd never really been much for physical contact until my transformation—strange considering my change had while come under physical and emotional duress—but good things seemed to happen when people indulged my driving need for belly rubs and ear scritches. No one seemed to be complaining, yet. My mam seemed to think I provided stress-relieving therapy. Combined with a certain puffball chick—comic relief.

My ears twitched as I heard the distinctive _Jaws_ music approaching. Quickly, I nipped the little witch, whose name I completely forgot, and drove her deep into the rose bushes. She protested a little, but seemed to get the message that I wasn't playing. She hunkered down in the bush, drawing her knees up to her chin and stayed quiet.

"You!" a voice hissed. There was the sound of feet squeaking across the rather luxurious-looking smoky quartz flagstones. "Why is there no one else about?"

"Ma'am?" an older boy's voice asked.

"Why are you just sitting there reading? Why aren't there people playing around in the corridors?"

"Against the rules, ma'am," the boy answered, sounding puzzled.

"I know you're up to something!" Umbridge hissed.

"Studying this rather dry book, ma'am," the boy answered.

The little witch was clutching me tighter, petting my ears as she trembled in fear.

"No school can have _nothing_ going on for this long!" Umbridge exclaimed, her voice getting rather high. "No— _ribbit!"_

"Sorry, ma'am?"

" _Ribbit!_ "

"I—I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have no idea what you're saying?"

" _RIBBIT! RIBBIT! RIBBIIIIITTTTT!"_

There was the sound of a slap, perhaps her clapping her hands over her mouth and frantic shuffling down the hall.

"Psst, hey Tails," Fred said, poking his head over the wall and talking into the rose bushes. "The coast is clear. She's running towards the headmaster's office now."

I poked my head out of the rosebush and licked Fred on the nose.

He deserved it after that.

He picked me up and threw me over his shoulders so I could look behind him, doing my best fox stole impression. "Careful getting out of there, Mary Jo. There ya go. Better get back to the common room before Umbridge gets back."

Mary Jo—ah, that was her name—rushed off after giving me a little kiss on the nose. I was strangely okay with that. Then again, I was strangely okay with being thrown over someone's shoulder and pretending to be a piece of clothing. I had never before had so much fun being, well—portable!

"Not sure what to call you anymore, Hermione, so I think I'm going to stick with Tails," Fred said, giving me an ear rub. "Well, when we aren't being all formal-like. Mum is a bit rattled still. Percy isn't helping with his telling everyone that Harry Potter is a lying, attention-grubbing something or other. I kinda stopped listening quite a while before he stormed out of the house."

That was rather depressing news. Harry had said that Ron was being extra cranky lately due to everything that had been going on. Thing was, he really couldn't say exactly what it was that was bothering him, but he sure seemed pleased to take it out on everyone around him. So far Ginny had Bat-Boogey hexed him at least twice a day since term started. Fred and George had hogtied him with licorice whips, and Neville—believe it or not—actually told Ron to "get stuffed."

Seamus and Ron weren't talking after the first time Seamus _wasn't_ the one blowing things up. Ron had accidentally sneezed into his cauldron, causing it to explode all over Seamus. That, of course, had Severus raining Merlin-forsaken hell down upon them like their own personal storm cloud, complete with thunder and lightning zapping them repeatedly on the arse.

Professor Dumbledore, on the other hand, had secreted himself away in his amethyst-walled office and was singing the Hogwarts anthem very loudly and off-key, making us all shake our heads and wonder what in the world he was up to. He'd seemed—rather irritated that Remus wasn't able to be his own personal werewolf ambassador (really, who _does_ want to be that?) and Severus was unable to be his Dark wizard pocket-spy. No Mark; no spy. Tough luck, that.

I tried to be sorry, but it didn't quite work. Both the Grangers and my Mam taught me better than to lie.

"George wanted to call you 'Little Buddha' but I pummeled him about the head and shoulders for you," Fred informed me with a wide grin.

My tails were swishing about in amusement. Good on Fred for standing up for me like that. To be fair, both twins treated me like a highly-prized crystal vial filled with Liquid Luck after the entire outing of Sirius Black as the enemy people thought he was the first time around. Damn, but that was getting pretty confusing.

As far as I knew, he was now cooling his heels in an Animagus-proof cell awaiting his next trial to decide if it was life in Azkaban or the Dementor's Kiss. As long as he was locked away in Azkaban, I felt better about the entire situation. I wanted him far away from me, from the ancestral home that I didn't even know I had, and Harry, who was now actually related to me.

Deep in the recesses of my mind was a detailed scorecard, a chalkboard with all sorts of diagrams and circles, names, lines, and zigzags. And in the middle of it all was a phoenix chick using the string as a nest and leaving little bird footprints in the chalk dust.

She did that in real life, too. She was probably doing it right now in Minerva's classroom. Eggplant was just a feisty little chick with her own insubordination issues— like her name. She _refused_ to be called Aubergine like a proper British phoenix named after a vegetable. She didn't want to be called Aalish, her proper name. She wanted to be called Eggplant, by gum, and she would peck out the eyes of anyone who tried to say otherwise.

Eggplant _loved_ being turned into a goblet and back. She trusted Minerva to not let her stay a goblet for too long. I tried not to judge. I turned into a multi-tailed fox, after all, and if there was anyone I trusted to transfigure me into anything, it was my mam.

"I assure you, Madam Umbridge," I heard the voice of Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank protesting vociferously. "If you indeed have a Niffler in your office, it is not one of mine. All of mine wear little gold collars and identification bands on their left hind foot. They are all in their habitat, so unless someone broke into my highly-warded classroom and stripped them off all identifying marks—that Niffler is not one of mine."

"I'm going to trace this creature!" Umbridge seethed.

Fred and I looked around the corner to see Umbridge waving about a half-strangled Niffler by the neck in front of a furious Professor Grubbly-Plank's face. The little creature was squeaking frantically in absolute terror.

"Help! Help! Helphelphelphelp!" I heard the voice.

My eyes widened. Oh yeah—magical creature.

I jumped down from Fred's shoulder and tore down the hall towards the pink monstrosity. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew I had to do something to save that poor Niffler from certain death via asphyxiation. I quickly dove between her legs, diving under Professor Grubby-Plank, making it look like I was being chased by something really big and really hungry.

I clung to her leg under her robes so only my tails stuck out from under the robes. I pondered, quite seriously, if I would going to have to take one for the team and take a bite out of Umbridge's puffy ankle just when—

" **ACHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"** Umbridge sneezed loudly and quite violently. Suddenly, there was a panting Niffler hiding next to me under Grubby-Planks' robes.

"Oh, hello there," the Niffler said. "Thank you!"

" **ACHOO!"** Umbridge sneezed again. "Oh I'm goin— **ACHOO!"**

"I don't think I actually did anything yet," I confessed to the Niffler.

" **AHHHHHCHOOO!"**

"Oh, dear," Professor Grubbly-Plank exclaimed. "I think you may be quite allergic to Niffler dander. It's exceedingly rare but—"

" **AAAAAACHOOOOOOOOOOO!"** Umbridge was waving her hands frantically and running top speed down the hallway towards her office.

A warm pair of hands scooped me up off the ground, cradling me with one hand. _Oh hello, warm hands and what are you—oh yesssss, right there. Thank you._

The Niffler was getting VIP treatment too, and was riding along in one of Professor Grubbly-Plank's rather capacious pockets.

"Thank you for your assistance there, dearie," the smiling elder witch said while giving me a good scratch behind the ears.

_Honestly, where did this woman learn how to—oh wow. YIP!_ Were my tails wagging? Oh, yes they were!

"You have to help Severus teach in a half hour, don't you dear?" she said.

I made a soft noise of disappointment when she set me back down.

"Don't worry, I'll find him a nice horde of shiny things and a comfy habitat," she said with a wink. "Just as soon as I let Poppy know that Madam Umbridge may be having some serious issues at the moment."

Issues—that seemed entirely too tame an explanation for why Umbridge was such an unbelievably awful person.

"Say hello to Severus for me," Grubbly-Plank said cheerily.

" _ **Yip!"**_ I tail wagged at her, bouncing off towards the Potions classrooms.

* * *

Most of my lessons came in the evenings and the weekends or whenever someone could squeeze me into their schedule. As an apprentice, I had one-to-one teaching, and I can't even begin to tell you how wonderful that was for me. I retained more, learned even faster, and generally didn't have to worry about someone blowing something up two feet away from me.

Thanks to my life-lessons from the Auror Office, martial magic and potions from Severus, all things health-related from Poppy, plant-whispering from Pomona, levitation and you from Filius, and Arithmancy and how Divination sucks from Septima, I was well into my N.E.W.T.s already, and everyone who knew me knew that. Keeping me occupied was the main challenge, or I'd get my multiple tails into mischief—more so now than ever before. Before, I didn't have tails to get into mischief. Now, I had seven of them to dip into trouble at any given moment, a pesky phoenix chick that delighted in adding to it, and then there was Crooks, whom I'm convinced was purposely not talking to me just to keep me guessing.

The late afternoon class was, thankfully, a more laidback class. It wasn't that Severus was anything but a beady-eyed, error-seeking vulture in any of his classes, but it was the N.E.W.T. level students, who had been there, done that, and knew better than to blow each other up. Well, usually.

Severus never once had to say "the instructions are on the board" by N.E.W.T. level, didn't have to drill which directions "clockwise" and "anti-clockwise" were, and didn't get hammered with really inane questions like "How do I get milk out of milkweed?"

Technically, that last one was a trick question. You had to tickle the pod with your fingers and hope you didn't get a cranky one that decided to latch onto them like a Fanged Geranium. Ever had to pluck Fanged Geranium fangs out of your finger after one latches onto you? It's horrible. Those things are like super-fine porcupine quills. Let's not even get into the collecting the Spitting Cobra plant venom without getting it in your eyes. Merlin help you if you had to collect Cobra plant venom and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi plant fruit for the same potion. Swift hands and good teamwork were crucial to avoid getting bitten.

Speaking of ingredients…

I thunked my paw down on a runaway vial of eye-teeth that had gotten away from one of the students. Creepy things, eye-teeth. Teeth shouldn't stare back at you, in my opinion. Maybe it was the raised-by-dentists thing.

"Thanks, Tails!" the wizard near me said, giving me a stroke along the back before collecting the vial.

I'll be honest. I really liked the rapport I had in classes now that I had seven more tails to my name. Even Severus seemed less stressed out. He was standing with his arms crossed in front of him as he scanned the room like a gun turret waiting for movement. Even so, he was more relaxed.

I got away with murder in his classes as a Kitsune. I could jump up on the desks, pace down the edge, stare into cauldrons, nip fingers, fetch lost vials, and get surreptitious ear scritches all in the same class! It was glorious. If I found one I didn't like, I would park myself by it and stare.

And stare.

And tail twitch.

And stare some more.

By then, either the student would have an epiphany or Severus would be there personally _GIVING_ them an epiphany. Only the latter was significantly more traumatising than the former. The main difference in the higher-level classes was that most of the students knew when they had royally mucked something up. The problem was knowing how to fix it without blowing their cauldron, themselves, their partners, or half of their fellow classmates up. Merlin forbid if they managed to blow up their professor.

Now, the super secret of the high-level classes was that if everyone did well and managed to _not_ blow anything or anyone up, we all got to have our next class outside collecting fresh potion ingredients. That was my favourite kind of class. It was usually the Ravenclaw class, but I didn't mind. My nose was the hottest commodity around for finding things that were just right for harvest. So far, my best find was not a potion ingredient so much as a find that paid for the entire class's field trip to Greece : black truffles.

What does black truffle smell like, you ask?

It smelled like petrichor mixed with a strong tang of sharp loam. It smelled good enough to both wear and eat at the same time. Sound odd? Don't judge me until you've experienced it as a Kitsune.

The biggest truffle I found was the size of a Muggle car tire. Half went to the centaurs because it was their territory after all, and half went to a _very_ happy contact in France. All expenses-paid field trip weekend to Greece, and we got to keep half of everything we harvested due to a highly-lucrative arrangement with our hosts, who were letting us frolic through their quite extensively forested lands.

The higher-level students seemed to be perfectly tight-lipped about it too. Not one word about it was leaked outside of their class. It was almost as if they were afraid that if word got out that they were actually _enjoying_ the class that Professor Snape would go back to being the arse-chomping terror of the dungeons from their first year and all the fun field trips would cease. No one—not one student—wanted that.

Professor Sprout had done a joint field trip with her high level N.E.W.T. students, and we'd all Portkeyed to New Zealand for what would be the first-ever Herbology-Potions Camptravaganza. It was an extra-long weekend; it got us out of Hogwarts, far away from the estimable Madam Umbridge, and we got to make messy but utterly delicious s'mores and campfire pasties at night.

_Bliss._

I was used as a pillow by someone I can't remember the name of—but that was just fine. I woke up to the heavenly smell of bacon sizzling over a campfire. All was forgiven.

I found that being a Kitsune was far more natural to me than being human was. Four legs made it much harder to trip over things. I didn't bump my head on things. I never felt like there wasn't enough room for me, and if there was a free lap, I had dibs. I also got to lick all of the plates clean. Happy Kitsune, oh, yes.

The tents they had ordered were specially made by the Frobozz Magical Tent Company, and I swear if Muggles had tents like these, housing concerns after a natural disaster wouldn't be, well, a concern. As Harry often said, "I love magic."

Crookshanks was curled up on Severus' desk, sprawled over a pile of turned in essays. Eggplant, the little stinker, had apparently moved from the Transfiguration classrooms to the Potions classrooms with the ringing of the class bell. She was roosting between Crooks' paws, giving contented peeps as Crooks snuggled into her. Who said felines and avians couldn't get along?

Harry had asked why I named her Eggplant instead of Aubergine, but her chosen name was Eggplant. She liked it. Who was I to argue? Besides, she got cranky when people called her Aubergine— a lot like that Tonks witch, who hated being called Nymphadora. Can't imagine why.

Crooks had been busy "overseeing" the new magical animal habitats that had shown up shortly after Professor Grubbly-Planks had given me a fantastic belly rub during the last faculty meeting. Her "new" chambers now had her office and chambers connected both to the inside, where a line of new animal habitats allowed students to observe them at all hours from the hall. The other side connected to the new and improved animal paddocks and habitats outside, giving her access to both student and the animals she cared for. Crooks may not be on speaking terms with me, though he obviously loved me greatly, but he was having a great old time watching over the habitats and making sure "unauthorised visitors" didn't disturb the enclosures.

Crooks wasn't the only one, either.

Mrs Norris would stop in and stare at the Niffler habitats, sometimes batting at the transparent wall. The tiny flame-birds, which were no larger than a galleon, flitted back and forth on the other side, seemingly enjoying the "safe" game as she batted at the wall where each bird was. Other familiars seems to find it fascinating as well, and it wasn't long before the hall in front of Professor Grubbly-Plank's office was busy all the time with familiars, students, and even owls that would come in to socialise.

Best thing?

Despite her very best efforts, Madam Umbridge couldn't find anything wrong with it.

The habitats were perfect. They were all warded and safe. There wasn't one animal that wasn't perfectly well-behaved thanks to their new habitats that catered to all of their individual needs, and the more touchy magical animals that required special handling were all safely outside in clearly marked restricted areas.

Like most restricted areas, they tended to attract a fair amount of would-be miscreants, but usually it was kids trying to come in and try to get a glimpse of "what was so restricted." Really, the entire concept of restricted only made things more curious. I should know—the restricted section of the library called me and every one of my tails by name.

Ironically, Madam Pince was one of the few souls in Hogwarts who didn't succumb to the charm of the Kitsune. No belly rubs from her, and thus the library never seemed to get any better for anyone. I found it rather sad. It was the one place I would have loved to be all the time, but the moment she saw me, it was war—as if I'd rip up a book just because I happen to have claws and teeth. Psh. Severus told me it was the balance. I couldn't have everything I wanted, so I had to have _something_ that I couldn't charm.

Why did it have to be the librarian that didn't like me? Such sadness.

To make up for it, however, Kingsley and Alastor gave me unlimited access to all of the reference books in the Auror's Library.

Thank you!

They would often find me curled up on top of a large tome of Wizarding law like a dragon over a hoard of treasure. I may or may not have hissed when Auror Proudfoot tried to remove me from _my_ tome just so he could look something up. Hey, a gal had to have standards. I had been using that book, and he didn't say the magic word.

Auror Savage always spoke my language. He arrived, lured me away with a piece of his sandwich, rubbed my ears until I was seeing hippogriffs dancing around my vision, and then cradled me against his shoulder as he snatched up the book.

That wasn't so hard, was it? Easy.

Severus tched his tongue, and I perked, catching his signal to check out something across the room. I hopped down on the floor and started moving towards the other side.

My whiskers twitched. This side of the room smelled like someone had practically bathed in patchouli. It made me want to sneeze.

_Skkkkssst!_

Okay, so I _did_ sneeze.

Damn. Didn't people realise that covering themselves up with scent only made them even more insufferable?

"Hem, hem," a voice froze me in place. Oh, to be a thestral. Damn, and I had really hoped the woman was still sneezing herself into Oblivion in her smelly swamp-ridden office.

The woman smelled like rotting vegetation with a chaser of flesh decomp. I'd smelled better from the butt end of a hippogriff and from Ron Weasley's dirty laundry.

Hogwarts really, really didn't like her. I didn't blame the school at all, and really who could? Well, anyone sane, anyway. The woman had a serious chip on her shoulder with enough bitter bigotry to make Alastor's tenacity with Dark Wizards look like kiddy park play.

Her hair was full of— stuff. I wasn't even sure what it was. Debris? I wanted to say it looked like she'd been fighting with an overzealous tumbleweed, but that would insult overzealous tumbleweeds. She looked desperate to hurt someone in any way possible.

Crookshanks appeared like the ghost he was, sprawling out in the middle of the room with Eggplant nestled in his fur. Someone had given her an aubergine and she had busily carved it into the perfect replica of Umbridge's face. Who knew phoenix chicks could have hobbies. Had Crookshanks taught her? You never knew with Crooks. He was mad brilliant, and he seemed perfectly capable of teleportation and could just show up someplace like he'd always been there. He could do it silently too. He had serious skills.

I had to wonder if Crooks was really half-Kneazle and more like two hundred percent Kneazle. I'd read up on Kneazles extensively the year I got him, and no one had ever said Kneazles were fond of or could indulge in teleportation and plot the downfall of a pureblood Dark Wizard all on his own. Maybe Sirius Black had been a special inspiration.

" _Dou van mij!"_ Eggplant cheeped. " _Dank je wel!"_

I grinned as Umbridge seemed to take the chick's Dutch as an insult even though all she said was "love me" and "thank you." I wondered what would happen when she did start cursing in Dutch.

" _Ik ga het proberen! Mierenneuker!"_ Eggplant warbled.

Oh dear. Where had she picked _that_ gem up? Gosh, was I blushing under my fur? I think I was. My little fluffball darling was a potty mouth.

"Snape," Umbridge said, looking terribly pleased with herself.

"Yes, Madam?"

"I'm afraid you are being let go," she said, serenely happy about it.

"Hn."

She frowned, expecting more wailing, perhaps.

"Does Albus know, or are you just pulling some educational decree out of a random lumen of the lower gastrointestinal tract?"

Umbridge frowned, her face making a good go at severely constipated mixed with the possibility of projectile vomiting. It wasn't a pleasant sight, and I hoped my Master had put up a shield just in case.

"I want you out of here, Snape!"

Severus, the kind of guy who made one look curdle your soul if you put the wrong ingredient in, gave her a completely unexpected smile— the sort of thing that would have sent every student that knew him screaming while begging him to forgive whatever transgression they had caused. I'd tried to emulate that particular smile, but it just didn't work. Maybe it was because fox faces weren't meant to twist that way. I could give an excellent seven-tailed salute though. I was especially good at the two-tailed salute, much to Auror Proudfoot's eternal glee.

"Ah well, I guess I shall be going," Snape said, his voice drawled as if he were commenting on the weather. "Don't forget to lock up."

As he swept the room with his typical flare, he turned back. "And thank you, Madam Umbridge, for satisfying the conditions of my termination clause. Do have a won-der-ful end of term."

He silently signalled me to follow, and I did. There was no way I was going to stick around to see Madam Umbridge blow herself up— well maybe that would be fun. I started to head back to the classroom as Severus scooped me up and cradled me in his arms as he walked back towards our quarters. He was packed in about 30 seconds, everything in his room having moved into one trunk, sorted by colour and size (cripes, he was anal) and all his private potion ingredients had marched into his second trunk. All of my stuff took a few minutes, mainly because he wasn't sure what to do about ladies underthings, and really, who could blame him there. It had taken me forever to figure out the torture device known as the bra before I had discovered the glory of the sports bra.

Best thing? Kitsune didn't have to wear bras. That alone was worth celebrating.

With a quick Patronus to Minerva to explain what had happened, and a purposely forgotten Patronus to Dumbledore to leave him to find out from Umbridge, we were at the front of the Hogwarts' gate and Disapparated.

It wasn't until we were floating around on the top of the hotsprings, well me, I was more using Severus' stomach as a raft, that he told me that Dumbledore had put a clause in his employment contract that if someone were to terminate him (something Dumbledore did NOT intend to do, ever) that Severus would be provided a rather obscene amount of compensation (intended to make sure he was provided for if Dumbles had managed to croak before the mission was complete) and a whole bunch of other entanglements that basically boiled down to Severus never having to work again, ever, unless he bloody well wanted to.

He was now free, filthy rich, and able to spend all his time making sure I was the best educated Kitsune on the face of planet Earth. I wasn't complaining!

My beloved mam was keeping us apprised of all the drama that happened after our being kicked out of Hogwarts. I was his apprentice, so of course I had to leave with him.

Obviously.

The school was not amused. It had been amusing itself by torturing the toad of a woman since she set foot in Hogwarts, but now it was war. Minerva sent pictures, courtesy of Colin Creevey.

And as if the food moving out of reach of her at the High Table, the gargoyle not letting her into Albus' office, the plants down in the dungeon dusting her with pollen that made her sneeze herself into different odd mutations wasn't enough, Umbridge had to deal with the all the classes she had gained due to firing the Potions Master. It was apparently a position no one else wanted upon hearing why the last person had left.

Apparently one of the potions classes had blown up a cauldron in her face, and it just happened to be a fertilizing potion for Professor Sprout. While Minerva's details were somewhat unclear as to what had really happened, a cauldron had exploded on Madam Umbridge and she ran out of the classroom in a hurry and wasn't found for a few days. No one had seemed to notice she was gone until a group of third-years found her in her far greenhouse for the Venomous Tentaculas making sweet love to them as she called the amorous plants Cornelius. The third-years had to have therapy and possibly obliviation, and Umbridge was in the infirmary being detoxed for the strange side-effects of the potion explosion— no minor one being she was sprouting plants out of her body in random places. Since it was a private affair and no one was supposed to know, of course everyone knew about it— and a picture had somehow been fed to the Daily Prophet, making headline news worthy of Rita-Gertrude Skeeter, oh whatever the hell her real name was.

It had taken my master a few hours not to laugh at the very hilarity of it all. All of Dumbledore's great plans for him had fallen away due to my accidently healing of his Dark Mark and making him "useless" as a spy. My curing of Remus had just driven the knife in deeper because you don't sent a human in to parlay with the werewolves. Then Umbridge had fired Severus, triggering his contract termination clause, freeing Severus from Hogwarts (and Dumbledore's thumb) while giving him a sickening amount of galleons in recompense.

It was hysterical just how absurd that was.

Minerva said that the Board of Governors was frantic to get Severus back as their Potions Master, but since Umbridge was technically "still there" they couldn't do anything. Meanwhile, just about every class had near fatalities with the teachers they did bring in to cover Potions (which were apparently not that great in number).

Severus only shook his head and called them all blithering dunderheads.

Lessons were so much more exciting when Severus wasn't distracted by all the drama of Hogwarts. I'm pretty sure we were breezing through seventh level material like it was nothing—not that it wasn't a challenge to learn, but that was all I was doing was learning. I would like to think I had the jist of learning down to a science.

I was Hermione Gr— erm… well, I _was_ Hermione, after all.

The new last name was going to take a little while to soak in.

New, er— old and rediscovered?

Hellfire!

Who in blazes _knew_ anymore?

Eggplant was doing her best to nest in my hair, but she could never quite figure out if she wanted to nest in it or on top of it. Most times she liked simply nestling between my ears so she had quick access to tug on my ear tufts like a backseat driver. Playtime, however, was often swinging by the Kitsune's tails.

"Mmmm, mmmmm," she said, sticking her leg out to snag Severus' robes as he went by. She transferred over like she was catching a train car, walking up his robes like her own personal jungle gym.

Severus, to his credit, didn't walk around a door on a sharp angle and scrape her off by accident (or on purpose.)

Eggplant would have considered it a challenge to stay affixed to him. It was exceedingly difficult to rid yourself of a determined, clingy lintball. I should know. Her father told me so.

Fawkes and Calida visited often, but I had no idea if Dumbledore knew about his phoenix's travelling proclivities. Merlin knew it wasn't as if I was trying to keep track. I could barely travel from point A to point B without ending up arse over teakettle with my face eating my tails.

The phoenix chicks, like most babies, were curious as all get out, and they chased each other around Grimmauld Place, immolating dust as they went (or collecting it and spontaneously combusting— whichever you prefer.) I'm sure there was some sort of marketable skill there, but the moment you make something a job, it ceases to be fun.

Who was I to argue with free cleaning ala phoenix?

After their play, the chicks would go steam themselves silly in the hot springs, making themselves even more fluffy and adorable, and it was almost too much for one Kitsune to take.

I ended up cuddling the entire lot of them.

They weren't exactly arguing.

In fact, it may have been their sneaky plan all along.

You're only supposed to have one familiar according to "people that know" but I was starting to think that it was just because no one had fess up to being owned by multiple species.

It was perfectly acceptable to be "owned" by a feline, for example, and thought that taking care of one as your familiar was plenty of work.

Crookshanks, however, had a more hands-off (paws off?) attitude when it came to me— at least when you compared him to Eggplant who wanted to be with me all the time. Well—

She and all her clutchmates.

Right the chirp now, thanks.

Severus had me studying while doing things I wanted to do as well, and I began to think that the "sort the library so it stops offending everyone's sensibilities" was actually his way of getting me to read new things. I mean, I had to read the books to sort them—

Obviously.

I found a great idea for a mastery project while I was buried in tomes.

" _Potverdriedubbeltjes!_ " Eggplant announced from the pile of tomes next to me.

Oh, really? Did you lose a page?

I eyed the lintball suspiciously.

Aalish eyed me cutely.

Calling her by her actual name only made her seem more suspicious. At least when you called the aubergine chick Eggplant you knew she was going to be spunky and defiant of social norms.

Titus (Trouble) was perched on the window ledge looking out at the neighbour's cat who was looking for, dare I say it? Trouble.

It probably wasn't expecting to have its tail set on fire by a feisty phoenix chick, though.

Whoever expects that?

That poor cat went flying off the window so fast—

I'm pretty sure I heard it extinguishing itself in the neighbour's birdbath. I'd imagine the cat was not feeling good about the entire situation.

" _Kappen nou!_ " Eggplant rawked.

Trouble went skittering off of the ledge and out of the library as fast as his little birdie legs could carry him.

Sigh. Kids.

Nuri (aka Nuisance) was living up to her name by knocking over some of tome stacks, and I snatched her up and tangled her in my hair to keep her strapped in. Hotaru (also known as Tangerine) was smelling distinctly of citrus fruit, making me think he'd pillaged the fruit bowl in the kitchen before arriving in the library.

Kreacher, bless his little soul, was a hundred thousand times less stressed with the removal of Sirius from the Black family home. He took care of the chicks and their parents and even "Potter" with far less venom. It wasn't to say he didn't find relief in the fact Harry was at school, however, which made me think the pair did not see eye to eye on any level.

The scars caused by Sirius Black ran far deeper than anyone could have known.

When it came down to it, I realised that people had truly trusted Sirius.

Hell, _**I**_ had trusted him up until I realised I couldn't— whether that was a testament to my own stupidity or simple blindness, I don't really know for sure.

Assuredly, my naivety level _had_ lowered quite a bit after my adventure in escaping Sirius Black.

A lot of things change when you realise someone you trusted with your life has proven to be the furthest from trustworthiness—

When I thought about it though, my opinion of Sirius Black had largely stemmed from public opinion rather than first hand experience. Dumbledore had insisted he was trustworthy, so I had accepted that as fact.

Severus, however, I trusted implicitly.

He had never let me down, once he had sworn to be my master and all that entailed.

I had also sworn never to (purposely) set him on fire again—

_Baby steps, Hermione._

Truth be told, I was pretty sure that very few if any people knew Severus outside the forbidding persona he wore in the classroom. Outside of it, he was far more patient with lessons. He seemed to enjoy the one on one relationship of master and apprentice as much as I did.

My mam trusted Severus, too, but I think there were still mysteries between them that had her tartan wrinkled on occasion.

Again, I think she was having the same issue as other Order members— deciding who to trust when the word of Albus Dumbledore wasn't enough.

That same trust had insisted that people treat Severus with more respect, but unlike Sirius, he had a less than pretty playboy face and even less of a charming personality. People had outright taken one look at Severus and assumed him to be the token Dark wizard and all that entailed.

But it had been Severus that had kept me from—

Doing _very_ bad things to Sirius Black.

Very, very bad— quite possibly even fatal things.

Up until that point, perhaps the group of them—the Order— would have gladly believed Sirius Black over the likes of me.

I was just Hermione.

Even now, only a handful knew my secret— what I was, what I could do— and that was probably best considering the power was as chaotic as my tricks.

Something told me that what I had thought stole years from me to grant had actually done something else. Granting soul-felt beneficial wishes gave me strength and power— the sort of thing that gained me a tail or—

In the case of Remus Lupin, it had given me age.

And age to a Kitsune was _also_ power.

Some would say I had lost my childhood, but I had lost that the moment Sirius Black had tried to force himself on me.

I had lost my childhood.

I had lost a piece of my humanity, perhaps.

But I had gained something powerful through trials of adversity.

Well, something other than tails, of course.

Arguably, one might be able to argue that the tails were simply a manifestation of power.

And my fur?

Apparently I had a "positive" Kitsune experience pool that kept me from quite literally going black as pitch.

The wizard who gave me some of his treasured eggs, rice, and sake and honoured the traditions I hadn't even learned yet at the time, the children suffering in a home riddled with pollution who had offered me half of their treasured sandwich, accidentally saving Britain from a disguised witch posing as a reporter who just happened to be a Death Eater, the much-needed renovations to Hogwarts—

Save for one horrific experience with Sirius Black, the positives were adding up nicely. Six whole tails worth. So far.

I checked, just to make sure.

Okay, phew. No unexpected counting fails.

No unexpected tails to make me wonder if I'd been out sleep walking and granting random wishes along the way.

Not that it wouldn't have been fun to read about—

I slumped a little as the "old Hermione" and the "new and improved Hermione" had a bit of a row in regards to what constituted proper behaviour. The old Hermione was primarily interested in studies, homework, and following the rules (read that as not getting expelled.)

But now, however—

I was a bit of a wild card.

I still loved my books and learning. I listened to my master, did my projects, dutifully did as directed—

But, I followed my gut almost literally, now.

I'd like to think I wasn't a sodding twit like Ronald Weasley who spent ninety percent of his time with food in his mouth like he was starving to death—

I couldn't be sure, though, as I was ravenously hungry a lot.

Alastor said it was all the magic I was channelling— not that I was pulling it from myself like a witch or wizard would normally do it, but providing the conduit between "the universe" and whatever mischievous magical justice the Kitsune directed towards a person, place, or thing.

Kitsune were, as Fawkes put it, catalysts.

There were the benevolent ones— and the ones that would gladly see you take the wrong turn off a cliff.

I'd like to think I was a fine example of the former classification, but the stories I was hearing from Hogwarts about a certain pink monstrosity made me wonder if I'd picked up a few black hairs of late.

My thoughts about her, in particular, were not benevolent at _all_.

Maybe it was a majority rules sort of balance. I certainly didn't have it out for humanity. I'd met some really beautiful souls out there during my adventure, and it gave me hope for humanity in a way that the blood feuds did not. Meeting a few bad apples had not ruined my opinion that people were as capable of great kindness just as much as they were able to do the opposite. To blame an entire species for a few would be terribly unfair, even when groups of people tended to shut off their brains like an errant first-year who would rather be playing Quidditch than paying attention in their Potions class.

I realised I might still be somewhat bitter about a few things—

Was my eyelid twitching?

Bother.

Hedwig landed on the window ledge with a disgruntled crash, seemingly in so much of a hurry that landing dignified wasn't an option. She stared at the window pane accusingly as if it offended her somehow.

Harry writing?

Things must be dire indeed.

How many times had I begged Harry to write before he begrudgingly did? Then, Sirius had hijacked Hedwig, messing things up even more epically.

I sighed, opening the pane so the owl could enter. She flew in to land on her perch with a heavy thump, helping herself to the stasis-froglegs Harry had left there for her.

I took the scroll from around her leg, and she hooted with a weariness I had no idea translated into owl-ese.

* * *

_Hermione!_

_You have to do something!_

_Umbridge has taken over the school and banned owls and forced us to write that we shan't tell lies with his quill that makes us bleed what we write on our skin! I had to send Hedwig to you because she's threatening to kill any owl that hadn't been removed from the school by tonight!_

_I managed to send her out with this message only because she was distracted. She banned brooms too! Fred and George are thinking of leaving school completely! Firsties are crying in the hallways._

_She's punishing us even when she can't catch us doing anything. She's making up reasons to punish us!_

_She created some kind of Inquisitorial squad that goes around finding things to get us in trouble for!_

_You have to do something, Hermione!_

_Ever since you and Snape left, it's been getting bad here._

_Really bad._

_Please!_

_You have to help us!_

* * *

The letter trailed off, making Hermione think he had to rush to finish and send it in haste.

"Something troubles you?"

Severus' expression was quite concerned, his eyebrows knitting together seamlessly.

The warmth of his hand brushing against my arm was enough to chase the panic from my stomach.

I handed him the letter, not even a thought of keeping it from him crossing my mind. I could not hide anything from him any more than I could lie to my mam. The crease between his brows deepened. "I have a meeting scheduled with Minerva for later today. I believe I will make it earlier and inquire as to the current state of things this afternoon."

He let out a soft sigh. "I know it will be hard for you to focus as you normally do with such grave concerns, but I need you to focus solely on your tests. You are more than ready for them. If anything, you will prove how supposedly antiquated systems are nearly not as bad as some people might think. The master and apprentice system has long proven to be a superior method of education, and the curriculum can still be challenging even for those who prefer a non-specialised educational path."

I shuddered. Even as ready as I knew my master had readied me, taking my N.E.W.T.s in my fifth year (even with all that side-studying during the summer) seemed a bit crazy. Then again, every test I felt I wasn't ready for. Even the stuff I'd studied obsessively for—

"Are you su—"

Severus gave me a look that would have curdled milk. "Ob-viously."

I hung my head. He hadn't taught me to be a dunderhead, but I still felt like one.

I'd survived Sirius Black and a slew of new adventures. I'd gained six tails. Surely N.E.W.T.s wouldn't be that hard in comparison?

Maybe?

Possibly.

Severus put a hand on my shoulder. "You will do fine. You will prove to them all that neither Minerva nor myself coddled you, and that you can stand alone. That being said, you will still be my apprentice until I say otherwise."

Bugger.

He always knew how to say what I needed to hear.

The truth was, I wasn't ready to leave _him_. I didn't care what the grades said.

But knowing that he'd be there for me regardless of my exams— I could breathe a lot easier.

"Yes, Master," I said, accepting that his judgement was law. If he said I was ready, then by Merlin I was ready.

"Good," he said, leaving me to my studies as he left the letter on the table.

My stomach squelched nervously as I tried to convince it that I was as ready as he said I was, yet even as I did so, I couldn't help but wonder if the disquiet was simply anxiety over the test or the fact that Severus was going to Hogwarts _alone_.

Perhaps, it was neither of those things, and the real issue was that Severus had left Grimmauld Place, and his comforting presence had left along with him.

* * *

My N.E.W.T.s were, as anyone who knew the acronym could attest, nastily exhausting indeed.

Thanks to my "age," no one gave me a second glance, just waving me through to take them.

As far as I knew, you could take the N.E.W.T.s as often as you had the money to if you mucked up the ones taken at school, but the price to retest was limiting to many. It truly paid to get it right the first time while the nuances of book learned spells were still fresh in the mind.

Still, there were those, such as Aurors, who needed Os in all the key subjects, so if they were down one score, they had to take that subject's N.E.W.T again until they got it right. There was something to be said about determination at that point.

Severus, as my master, paid the fees for my testing, so his supporting me to take them early was not just a vote of confidence in my skill but also trust that I wasn't going to waste a pile of galleons on his behalf.

While I am sure that my mam would split the difference with him should he require it, I think I'd be absolutely mortified if that had to happen.

Even if he was filthy, stinkin' rich thanks to Umbridge's firing him.

Hell, I was pretty sure I could afford to foot the bill myself thanks to the little-known fact I was Hermione Black by blood, but the very idea that I'd fail at a test hurt me in places I didn't even want to explore.

No thank you.

The written portions lasted upwards of four hours, and then the practicals after being exhausted as heck went over about as well as a flamethrower in the Hogwarts' library.

My spells all superpowered themselves thanks to my weariness, and my counterspell sent the proctor flying across the room into a suit of armour.

Oops?

My potions were flawless, I'll have you know, and I would have been able to brew them blindfolded with my tails tied together. It would have been uncomfortable, though. Tails do not like being tied.

Eggplant was quiet all day, bless her profane little heart, nestling into my neck and offering silent support. She seemed to realise I needed comfort and not distraction.

The exam officials seemed boggled that I didn't take the Divination exam as apparently "most young witches do". After having Trelawney as a professor, let's just say I'd rather bite my own tails than suffer through learning Divination.

Arithmancy was more my style.

It was complicated but logical.

Maths always followed rules.

Divination—

I'm not even sure stirring one way or another before sipping the tea you read the leaves of was a real rule or something Trelawney made up.

I'm pretty sure she made a lot of things up, even if that one part _might_ have been true.

Like when she was off raiding the kitchen for cooking sherry and loftily claimed she was "consulting with the mystic forces."

Right.

As if you could bottle _that_.

Potions were the closest you could come to bottling the mystic forces, and there wasn't one potion that legitimately let you see the future as it would be.

Could it be? Maybe.

Would it be? Not a chance in hell.

My last practical involved levitating all manner of things. I had to turn Eggplant into a goblet and levitate her across the room without dropping her. Then, after proving I could transform her back, I had to levitate a body like I was transporting them to the hospital wing and weave it in and around these cones without hitting any of them.

The poor guy had a helmet on and knee and elbow pads.

Apparently other test takers hadn't done as well as myself.

The test ended with me having to find which Crookshanks was the real Crookshanks in a sea of illusionary half-Kneazles.

It ended with me pulling out a charmed piece of the stinkiest damn cheese on the fair face of Creation.

The _real_ Crooks was on it in a flash while the other illusions seemed to whimper and meow out of existence.

Pansies.

Apparently that test was all about verifying I actually treated my familiar well enough that I'd be able to tell which one was the real deal, as it were.

I had to wonder— Wormtail actually being human aside— if Ron would be able to tell which Scabbers was the _real_ Scabbers if all of them were covered in an equal amount of cheese powder and crisp crumbs.

Surely Harry would easily pass the test with Hedwig, right?

Right?

They tried to get Eggplant to cooperate for a test, and she disgruntledly perched on the old brass perch they seemed to pull out of Merlin's armpit. They "cloned" her, moving the image and her around until the room was full of Eggplants.

I waited.

They stared at me, each official wondering why I wasn't doing anything.

I continued to wait.

" _Strontziek!"_ one Eggplant said. " _Ga naar bed, halve gare!"_

I smiled.

"That one," I said, pointing to the little profanity spewer.

Eggplant hopped off the perch, fluttered to the ground, and beelined to me. She scrambled up my robes and dove back into my hair. " _Hou van mij! Mooie vogel_!" she announced, acting all innocent. " _Gloeiende gloeiende!"_

The Eggplant clones all looked horrified.

Judging by the expressions on the judges, none of them knew Dutch.

Thank the gods for small favours.

With that, I was done with my N.E.W.T.s.

I barely remember getting home as I face-planted into my pillow almost immediately with just my tails sticking out from under the duvet.

The scent of herbs, both fresh and dried, wafted in from somewhere in Grimmauld, reminding me of my Master's promise to speak to Minerva.

Sleep came quickly.

Peace at _last_.

* * *

I woke to realise there was an owl trying to plaster itself against my window, its beak rapping against the glass like it was utterly offensive.

Perhaps it _was_ —

Only the gods knew what had been done to some of it when Sirius lived under the same roof.

Though, I suppose, a little Kitsune magic _had_ helped make the place much more livable and thus less akin to his highly questionable tastes.

Not that I had had anything to do with that save for being a conduit—wishes were a fickle sort of magic. All creatures that dealt with wishing magic tended to have some check and balance system. For me, it was never about having control over another's free will to wish something as long as it satisfied certain conditions of feeding the Kitsune belly and rubbing said belly like a furry Budda.

Remus' wish was something that had tread the line— a wish made from the depths of his very soul. He probably had a price he paid for that wish as much as it had accelerated my evolution, but what it was was probably well worth it to him.

Being a werewolf in today's world was a curse one way or another, either in complete ostracisation or the sad fact that you would try to murder your loved ones three times a month—

Or even your most hated ones—

Werewolves really didn't give a flip either way.

I groggily opened the window, and the owl burst in, a scroll clutched tightly in her talons, and promptly landed on one of Hedwig's perches in the hallway. Hedwig's rather annoyed screech-hiss told me she was not amused at all by the interloper taking _her_ perch.

So _what_ if she had like ten of them scattered throughout the house?

Sheesh.

The fact that Hedwig was still here told me that Harry had instructed her to stay— so whatever he believed was going on at Hogwarts at the moment was dire enough that he truly feared for Hedwig's life.

I sighed as I practically staggered over to the owl in question and relieved it of the scroll.

Damn but those graders got the N.E.W.T. scores out _**fast!**_

I looked at the scroll with trepidation, not wanting to see how badly I had failed. It was a deeply rooted failing, perhaps, thinking that not only that I would have done poorly but that I'd disappoint the people I admired.

Here I was, taking a test when I should be taking the O.W.L.s, all because my master believed I was ready.

I never felt truly ready.

I'd double-triple checked every answer—

And fretted.

And simmered.

And almost cried.

I knew I'd gotten most of them wrong.

I knew I'd failed, and Severus would look down on me with disdain— having failed him.

Having failed everyone.

I stared at the scroll.

The owl stared at me like I was being impossible.

Yes, well, maybe I had the right to be a little impossible in the face of my entire career spiraling downwards into hell and damnation over the results of—

I could feel the phantom thump of Severus' hand on the back of my head.

_Don't be a dunderhead._

Yeah— it was his voice in my head too.

Since when did my inner voice have _his_ voice?

I frowned.

Since forever.

I couldn't really remember the time that inner voice sounded like my mum or my father.

I had been away from my parents for almost six years, and that did not even count the time I had inhaled thanks to the Time Turner. Minerva had allowed me to distract myself from my parent's death— it had given me focus in work. The apprenticeship had become my lifeline along with shadowing my Auror friends at the office learning constant vigilance and how to be a real Scottish wench.

The thing was—

I'm not sure when it had become an apprenticeship versus him just keeping my mind occupied— challenging me to get my head out of the past and focus. He took that energy and wound it up, sending in the direction that would help me best, and well—

Isn't that what a master did for an apprentice anyway?

Oh sure, I had woken up after fixing that Wolfsbane potion with his apprenticeship pin on my collar— but really, was that truly the beginning? OR was that just the official word.

Unofficially.

It was still a secret to a great many people, as most of everyone thought I was just an orphaned Granger who toddled off to some distant relative during the summer.

No, Hermione Granger McGonagall had basically taken turns learning from everyone from her mam, to Severus, from the Aurors, Poppy Pomfrey—

Perhaps, I should stop fretting on if I was ready to take the N.E.W.T.s I had just taken and open the damn scroll.

Whooo.

The owl seemed to agree.

I rubbed the golden scar where the young unicorn had inadvertently impaled me, and it tingles, giving me a bit of inner strength.

One more badge of life in the world of Hermione Granger McGonagall—

One more hidden scar of survival.

If I could survive all of that life was throwing at me since I was a quivering firstie with incessant hand-waving proclivities, then by the gods, I could open that damn scroll.

Right?

RIGHT?!

Why was I standing there like a complete idiot then?

I reached out to take the scroll, felt the tug on my navel—

Oh bloody fuck.

The portkey took me with a startled yip.

Then Oblivion awaited me with gnashing teeth and eager growls.

_I'm sorry, Master. I'm a fuckup after all._

* * *

I woke to find myself strapped down to some kind of table like the Frankenstein Monster— sans the lightning and psychopathic "it LIVES!" screaming in the background.

"Hermione!"

Harry's voice. From my left.

My ears twitched, swivelling.

Yes, definitely the left.

"Hermione! You're up! Get us out of this!" Harry insisted. "I know you can get us out of this!"

That's some faith, Harry, considering you had absolutely none in me earlier this year and before that. None.

Oh, sure. You were working on being better, but you'd accused me of ignoring your owls as well as other things throughout every hardship— every trial.

I couldn't even move to acknowledge him. Part of me didn't want to. I knew I was in some fresh kind of hell, and I had no idea just how bad it was other than I'd been swindled into touching a touch-activated Portkey.

So much for being constantly vigilant.

I'd been so preoccupied with my stress over taking a test I could have very well taken over again had I truly been horrible that I'd allowed a trick Portkey to pull me into its trap.

Idiot.

Stupid, stupid girl.

What good was all that training and lessons if all you do is set yourself up for being the weakest link?

The dunderhead who got herself in trouble the moment she was alone—

Again.

Harry's voice was buzzing about my ears like the chatter of many bees, and had I not been tied and bound with my wand off somewhere unknown, I might have paid more attention to his blathering.

I had other things on my mind, though.

"It doesn't work that way, Harry," I said into the dark.

"What do you mean it doesn't work! I saw it work! Back at G—"

His voice cut off, unable to reveal the place with the current company, which meant only one thing. There was someone else not privy to Grimmauld Place that was here—

Harry.

He was always thinking far too fast but not in a way that helped. One tracked focus to the end— assuming he was right and that his solution was always justified.

I wasn't even sure all the "rules" that made wishes reality with a Kitsune. For me, it had been about food— or perhaps contentment with food, I really wasn't sure. Perhaps, it was about genuine but innocently done need. Then, there was Remus— so all bets were really off.

I had no idea how it worked. I could only guess.

So much for book knowledge or learning from experience.

If anything, experience was teaching me that I could only do things by the seat of my tails— whatever those were.

Did tails have seats?

Maybe, mine did.

"Come on, Hermione!" Harry blurted. "You grant wishes! I'm wishing for you to help me! Help us!"

Tssssst!

I recognised that hiss.

Severus.

"Shut your mouth, Potter!"

"She can help us!"

"Shut. Your. Mouth!"

"I won't! You know she can help us! Why won't you tell her! Tell her!"

Had I ever been so blind? So adamant?

Perhaps, when I was eleven and hand-waving like an idiot with so much to prove—

I knew that if Severus was trying to shut him up that the situation was dire, and like most dire situations Harry Potter found himself in, he thought with his emotional pool, not his rational mind.

Suddenly, Severus screamed, and whatever platform I had been bound to moved, slamming me against my back as the room lit up—

Giving me a perfect view of him being tortured above me.

Blood dripped from his skin in various places where cruel, taunting words were carved into his skin.

_Impure._

_Traitor._

"Hem, hem," Umbridge cleared her throat, a smug smirk plastered to her toad-like face. She had a quill in her hand and she wrote on a doll that had a familiar lock of black hair on it.

"That'll be enough from _you_ , I think," she informed Severus, writing on the doll.

Severus screamed as fire seemed to tear into his skin, opening hideous, gaping wounds on his face.

The words _I will be quiet,_ dripped thick rivulets of blood from his face.

"Now that you are here for our little meeting," she cooed. "Perhaps Snape will tell me what he's been holding back all this time."

Severus glared at her through bloody streams of his own blood as it zig-zagged across his pale skin.

I saw the wounds clearly— felt them covering every inch of his alabaster flesh. He'd endured it all— for _me_.

"Potter was so good to send his owl begging you to come help," Umbridge heckled. "The Ministry seemed to think you were ready to take your N.E.W.T.s. Two things made it so terribly easy to reel you in. And thanks to Potter, I now know exactly what was getting in my way. Thanks to him, I know _exactly_ how to get exactly what I want."

A flaming ball of outraged lint hit Umbridge in the face, pecking at her eyes and scratching at her face.

Eggplant!

Umbridge screeched, her hand crushing around Eggplant's flaming body. Her face was bleeding— one eye bleeding and shut.

Her hand was like a cruel vice around Eggplant's body, and I felt her tiny lungs being crushed.

_**NO!** _

" _Halve gare!_ " Eggplant spat furiously at her, her beak tearing into Umbridge's fingers.

But Umbridge didn't let go. Oh no.

She dropped the doll she had been using and shoved the blood quill directly into Eggplant's squirming body.

I felt the fire of agony flare in the little chick's body as my own body felt the flames consuming her.

" _Hou van jou,"_ the little chick croaked as the fire devoured the chick's body to ash and she breathed her last. _I love you._

_No!_

_**NO!** _

Umbridge suddenly grabbed my face in her hand, her fingers pressing tight against my jaw to force it open.

I struggled against her, but she whispered a spell into my face, and I screamed in agony as my skin seemed to split, blood running like a river down my body.

Rage.

Rage like nothing I had ever felt mixed with my despair.

Ash from my beloved chick mixed with my blood, even as the blood of my master mixed with mine.

_Rage._

_Despair._

_Hatred._

Blackness was creeping into my vision— bleeding from my eyes, rimming my eyes with black. My fur was turning colour, a stripe of purest, darkest black sneaking into my pristine white fur.

But the hate did not have only one focus.

No.

It _knew_ Harry, too.

I could feel his— but I could also feel the blame hanging from his soul—

He had chosen to betray me.

My secret.

My life.

He had told her about me.

He had told her how to _use_ me!

Drops of pure hatred spilt from my eyes, seeped through my fangs, and my muzzle twisted into form as blackness dripped from my teeth.

She shoved a piece of pink sponge cake into my mouth and popped a cork of some flask and forced it to my mouth. Her face twisted in savage glee.

" _ **I wish to become the most powerful witch in all the world!"**_

Her other hand forcibly rubbed my belly—

_Perverse._

_Ugly._

_Unnatural._

The binding geas on the nature of the wish tethered my magic and my rage, but also it surged up to grant this unnatural wish of ultimate selfish power.

But every wish had to come with a price—

And Dolores Umbridge had just made the most gargantuan of wishes.

To make one being the most powerful of all, there had to be a balance.

My muzzle twisted into a snarl.

_No._

I blinked. The creases on my muzzle loosened a fraction.

It was Severus's voice.

I looked up at him.

_Don't let her— make you a monster._

His voice was but a whisper of the mind— a caress against my heart— yet it was thunder in my heartstrings. I knew in that moment that he was dying of blood loss, but he was willing everything in his being to be my anchor.

My soul anchor.

My heartsong.

I trusted him.

He believed in me.

I—

I felt his love—

In his blood.

In his _soul_.

It was a painful, guilty, selfless love—

He loved me so much he'd give his last breath to ensure I did not fall into darkness.

He loved me so much he had never admitted it— confessed— said anything.

He was my teacher.

He was my master.

He was the love of my life— this life, the next.

What would I be without him?

Never had I felt a love so pure, but he had been willing to hide it away for my sake. For my future. For my possible future with someone else—

When had it happened?

Yet—

I felt it in my very soul that I loved him too.

How else could his very whisper drive the hate from my body?

_Severus_.

I looked into those black eyes that seemed to hold more warmth than anyone I had ever known. How could anyone possibly think him so cold and callous?

How could they ever think him irredeemably Dark and unscrupulous?

My magic— the magic of my newly indoctrinated Kitsune soul— wove tightly into his, wrapping its fibres into the very core of his magic and soul.

His soul was succor— warmth that seemed to caress like a hand across my fur. It was a full belly filled with turkey and a hand rubbing my belly. He was home, and I felt my core open to him with an all-encompassing recently-realised love.

His blood.

Mine.

The ashes of my poor, loving Eggplant.

The most selfish of wishes—

My fangs glinted as magic crackled from my tails.

_**Kerrrr-ZAP!** _

It struck Dolores Umbridge right between the eyes as Severus fell from the raised torture device and enveloped me in his arms and the darkness swallowed us whole.

* * *

**Dolores Umbridge**

* * *

I felt the surge of magical power singing through my entire body… _**YES!**_

Finally!

Finally, I'm getting what I deserve!

Finally, I am getting what I have wished for!

I exited the wrecked room (Snape and his stupid animal-girl were probably dead anyway, good riddance!) and laughed as I punished everyone I ran across with their own personal hell.

Serves them right!

I hated children.

I hated them so much!

They were crying, and I loved it. I loved to hear them cry, and I loved that they were finally afraid!

They should respect their elders!

Respect their betters!

They feared me now, and I was okay with that!

I'd father they fear me.

I strung that old headmaster out by his beard and turned him into a manky old goat.

I turned that stupid willow into a strand of cattails.

I gave myself the Headmaster's office, bending the magic of the school to my will to pitch all of his stupid globes and books out the window along with his damned bird.

I turned the phoenix into an ostrich and laughed as it fell from the sky with a startled squawk.

I threw the half-giant into a giant tub of rose-water and suds, enchanting brushes to scrub him until he sparkled.

I turned that annoying squid into a whale and beached it on the shore.

Hahahahahaha! The _**freedom!**_

Aurors were streaming in, and I turned them into a mewling litter of newborn kittens. _Much_ better.

Teachers were running to defend the school, and I turned them all into terrified mice then turned the children into cats.

I smiled.

Survival of the fittest.

I transformed the school into a monolith of shimmering pink granite, smiling as it looked so much better.

Voldemort-schmouldyvort.

Oh!

I waved my hand, and the supposed Dark Lord Voldemort and his goon squad appeared in front of me, looking quite startled and confused at that.

I snapped my fingers, and they turned into a garden of exquisitely detailed feline topiaries depicting cats sprawled across the green and climbing up the outer walls, even lapping water from a couple dozen or so decorative fountains surrounding the Black….

No, ahem, make that _Pink_ Lake. Hrm, what next?

Hah!

So much for "Lord" Voldemort.

There was no such thing as the Dark Lord.

_Psh_.

I remembered the ridiculous rumour that Voldemort had somehow devised a way to render himself immortal—

I clapped my hands, and a pile of rubbish and a section of the DADA classroom lay before me.

I set them to fire, happy to hear the screams as the cat-shaped Fiendfyre devoured the entire pile in a matter of moments.

That is what a real witch could do.

I laughed as I created myself a bejewelled pink velvet throne to sit on in the Great Hall. I was now the sovereign queen of Hogwarts in my very own castle. The tables were lined with cat bowls and water fountains, and the students immediately swarmed in to eat, meowing and behaving so much _better_ than mere children.

Hah!

I saw two beautiful, shimmering bracelets on the table, and I took them. They were made of goblin silver and pink sapphires, were shaped like cats, and even had jewelled cats carved into them.

Fit for a queen.

I put them on at once, admiring them.

There was a loud thump on the Head Table as two foxes jumped upon them. One was white with red markings. One was black with markings in red The white one had a freakish number of tails— all white save for one. The black one only had two tails— one white, one black.

They rubbed up against each other and then proceeded to help themselves to my dinner of lobster tail and filet mignon.

I pointed my finger at them, casting a spell to make them into a gorgeous fur stole.

Nothing happened.

I tried again.

The two foxes continued to dine on my steak and lobster, licking each other's faces clean of the tasty juices.

The _**NERVE!**_

I took out my wand and aimed it at them.

" _ **Bombarda Maxima!"**_

Nothing happened.

I threw every spell I knew at them. Slicing curses! Hexes!

Nothing.

The white fox yawned, showing dainty white teeth. "Infinite magical power."

The black fox lashed his tails. "Itty bitty living space."

I looked down to see that my body was being sucked into a rose-coloured oil lamp.

What?!

No!

_**NOOO!** _

The foxes' tails crackled and energy jolted from tail to me, and the lamp sucked me in like I was going down a drain, swirling me as if I'd been thrown into the toilet.

No!

It wasn't fair!

It wasn't _**FAIR!**_

The lamp rocked and came to a halt on the throne, shrinking to the size of a child's toy just before it was encased in unbreakable crystal shaped like a rearing centaur.

"Enjoy life as the world's very first mortal djinn," the black kitsune said dryly.

"You say the loveliest things," the white kitsune yipped, playfully licking his jaw.

The black kitsune gave her a heated glance, and they descended into a bit of carnal pleasure right there on the Head Table, the power of their consummation causing a blast of magic to flow outward and flow over Hogwarts and all her inhabitants.

" _ **Yip!"**_ they cried together, flopping down in exhaustion on the Head Table.

Each smug-looking kitsune sported a new pink-tipped black tail as Hogwarts went back to normal.

Except for the strange gathering of topiaries on the green—

Dancing foxes surrounded a figure with no face save for an outraged mouth opened wide in a silent scream as it lay on a bed of eternally smoking purple ash surrounded by smaller piles of ashes shaped like a ring, a goblet, a locket, what might have been a crown of sorts, and even an enormous bloody snake —

No one could quite explain why there was also a strange pile of ash shaped like a certain infamous mop-haired student, even while the student in question was still very much alive.

* * *

_**End of a Wizarding War That No One Realised Was Back Again?!** _

_A squad of Aurors responded to a frantic summons for aid at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last week and found themselves amidst what could only be described as Hell on Earth._

_Madam Dolores Jane Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister For Magic, forcibly took over the school, used Dark magic to bend the school to her will and transform both staff and students at her whim, and draw the once-thought-dead Dark Lord You Know Who into a fight on the green._

_The Aurors, transformed against their will into mewling kittens, could only watch in horror as teachers were turned into rodents, children turned into cats, and chaos reigned supreme over the magical school thanks to Minister Fudge's support to allow Madam Umbridge into the seat of power that gave her the ability to usurp more power in the first place._

_Umbridge is presumed to have discovered a magical artefact that allowed her to transform herself into the most powerful magical being known, but it was her ultimate undoing as it came with the fetters of servitude and a binding into a magical vessel._

_Madam Umbridge was found trapped within a miniature pink oil lamp encased in an unbreakable crystal sculpture of a rearing centaur— orchestrated by her own selfish desire for ultimate power._

_Interestingly, the sculpture had a vial of memories fastened around its neck in the ultimate damnation._

_Minister Fudge has vehemently sworn that he had no knowledge of and does not support Madam Umbridge's actions stating, "I would never condone the use of violence and torture. I had no idea Dolores hated children so much! This is a most horrifying discovery, and I will be working very hard to assist Hogwarts in repairing any and all damage done during Dolores' unlawful rampage."_

_Headmaster Dumbledore has been temporarily replaced by Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall while he is undergoing de-cursing at St Mungo's from a lingering curse from Madam Umbridge._

* * *

_Memo_

_To: Unspeakables_

_From: HBOY, Amelia Bones_

_Thanks to Master Morgan, we have found a use for that paperweight known as Madam Umbridge, and we have hooked her up to power the Ministry. The unlimited power can be siphoned to light and maintain spells well into the next century or at least until Madam Umbridge would naturally die. Until then, we have power to spare, and everyone is encouraged to leave your lights on and enjoy this boon while it lasts._

_Couldn't have happened to a more deserving witch._

* * *

_**Memo** _

_**To:** _ _Master Manfred Morgan_

_**From:** _ _HBOY, Amelia Bones_

_Manfred, you mischievous old dragonbat, making a flashing arrow with "UMBITCH" lit up in eye-bleeding pink pointing to the powering station was NOT sanctioned by the Ministry!_

_You take that down right now!_

_(Um, in about a week or so. I told them you were off on vacation in the wilds of Madagascar and sadly unreachable.)_

* * *

_**Memo** _

_**To:**_ _Ministry Kitchen Staff_

_**From:**_ _Master Chef Jackson Kilburn_

_Okay, enough is enough, you guys._

_Whoever let that purple phoenix chick into the fruit storage room? Well, ha bloody ha, you great sodding berk, whoever you are. Very funny, you got me good. Now stop letting that little blighter into our fruit stores! We have to make a ruddy great pile of fruit salad for the Minister's function this Friday!_

* * *

Far away, in Grimmauld Place, one black and one white kitsune curled up together in the garden as an entire phoenix family turned themselves into a number of steam-fluffed feather and lint balls.

One especially smug little aubergine chick gulped down a large gooseberry and snuggled in-between them, nesting comfortably in their warm neck fur.

" _Hou van mij!"_ she cheeped. " _Hou van jou! Mmmm, mmm! Gloeiende gloeiende, ga naar bed!"_

She yawned impressively, then tucked her little beak under a wing and closed her eyes _._

Everything was just the way she wanted it.

* * *

**End of Chapter Four**

* * *

**A/N:** Did anyone remember this story? Hah! And you thought it was abandoned! Never! Thank you for your understanding that muses are fickle and real life is a rude, rude taskmaster.

Thanks to Dragon and the Rose for staying up to task in wrangling my shenanigans and Dutchgirl01 for teaching me Dutch profanity. (shifty look)

_**What?!** _


End file.
